OLb  /KE 

jflNb  OTHER 
POEMS 


FRE5*EAER50N'PROOKS 


REESE  LIBRARY 

OF  THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA, 

Deceived  t  lgo 

^Accession  No.        91392  . 


Fred  Emerson  Brooks 

Fred  Emerson  Brooks  was  a  versifier 
did  not  seem  to  wait  for  inspiration,  but  could 
knock  out  a  poem  as  occasion  arose.  At  that, 
some  of  his  work  was  ambitious,  as  the  official 
ode  of  the  Panama-Pacific  Exposition,  entitled 
"California,"  which  was  widely  considered  a 
popular  expression  anent  a  popular  occasion. 
He  was  so  generally  recognized  as  a  ready 
publicist  that  at  one  time  he  was  a  drawing 
card  on  the  Chautauqua  circuit,  being  a  con 
temporary  of  W.  J.  Bryan  in  that  organized 
lyceum  of  entertainment  and  instruction.  His 
e  was  written  down  to  the  comprehension 
*  the  matter-of-fact,  and  possessed  none  of  the 
steries  and  idiosyncracies  of  that  new  style 
verse  that  doesn't  rhyme  and  in  the  ordinary 
mind  seems  to  get  nowhere.  Several  volumes 
of  his  compositions  were  published.  Personally 
he  was  a  cheerful  personality,  always  striving 
to  make  the  world  less  sombre,  and  succeeding 
to  a  very  creditable  extent.  There  will  be  many 
to  regret  his  passing,  which  occurred  at  Berke 
ley  last  Thursday. 

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OLD  ACE,  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


OLD 


AND 


POEMS 


PERSON 

BRGDKS 

•I'Q'CM* 


FORBES 
COMPANY 
BOSTON  S 
CMICAGO 


CONTENTS. 


OLD  ACE, i 

THE  SWING, 5 

UNCLE  EPH'S  HEAVEN, 12 

"  PALESTINE," 15 

DON'T  YOU  THINK  so,  BILL  ? 19 

PAT'S  CONFEDERATE  PIG, 23 

LITTLE  NED'S  WAGON, 26 

FOREIGN  VIEWS  OF  THE  STATUE 30 

LITTLE  TIM'S  TOBACCO, 33 

"  THE  REMAINDER  OF  THE  YEAR  ! "          ....  35 

SHERMAN'S  MARCH, 37 

THE  ORTHOD-OX  TEAM, 41 

OLD  GLORY, 44 

NANCY  HANKS, 46 

CRAZY  VET, 49 

PRETTY  MAID  OF  SAN  JOSE, 51 

THE  JEALOUS  WIFE, 53 

41  BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER," 57 

THE  PASTOR'S  WOOING, 59 

FOREIGNERS  AT  THE  FAIR, 6a 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  CANA, 64 

THE  MILLER'S  MAID, 66 

THE  CALIFORNIA  FLEA, 68 

THE  FUNERAL  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS,          ....  73 

JENNIE 75 

SHALL  BESS  COME  HAME  ? 76 

BAREFOOTED  AFTER  THE  Cows, 81 

THE  FROG  AND  THE  FRENCHMAN, 84 

THREE  LULLABYS, 87 

THE  NEW  BABY, 88 

LULLABY, 90 

THE  WASP  AT  CAMP  MEETING, 91 

MOTHER, 95 

LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD,     ....  97 

PAT'S  OPINION  OF  FLAGS, 98 

THE  SKELETON, loa 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PACK 

THE  ENSIGN,          .        .       .       .       ....       .104 

GUNS, 107 

DAME  NATURE'S  CRAZY  QUILT in 

YOSEMITE,  113 

SILLY  BILLY, "6 

THE  FERRY, 119 

THE  DEACON  AND  THE  JUNE  BUG, 120 

WITH  THE  BOYS, 124 

SANTA  GLAUS, 126 

THE  SHERIFF  OF  CERRO-GORDO, 129 

11  OH,  YEH-YUS  ! "  *34 

UNCLE  EZRA'S  STORY, 136 

A  WOMAN'S  POCKET, 142 

THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OF  HAMILTON  SQUARE,         .       .        144 

BARNYARD  MELODIES, 145 

JOHN  MAYNARD, 148 

MURPHY'S  DONKEY, J51 

THE  Two  KNIGHTS, 154 

ITALIO, 160 

THE  GHOST  OF  AN  OLD  CONTINENTAL,     ....         162 
THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO,      ....     167 

THE  DEAD  REGIMENTS, 167 

ELSIE  ADAIR, 168 

STUTTERING  BILL  ON  THE  HEN, 169 

MRS.  FLANDERS, 171 

OLD  EAGLE, i?3 

THE  BROGUE  I  BROUGHT  OVER  THE  OCEAN,        .        .        .     175 

PADDY  MOORE, i?7 

"  SAID  I," .     180 

WATCHIN'  THE  SPARKIN', •   182 

THE  GOLDEN  GATE, 184 

THE  PRETTY  COLLEEN, .185 

WHEN  ONE  HEART  BEATS  FOR  Two,    .        .  .        .186 

YOU'RE  ANOTHER, 187 

THE  TRAMP  AND  THE  CUR,    .        .        .        .       .        •        •    188 
LITTLE  ETTA'S  COLORED  BOY,          ...        .        • '      •        I92 

KISSING, .       .       •       .194 

WHY  ROSY  LIPS  WERE  MADE,        ..       .        .       -.       •        196 

CUPID  WENT  A-COURTING,  .        .        .       .        .        .     *97 

ANY  KISSES  WITH  THE  ROSES  ?     •   ,       .       .        ....        199 

I  LOVE  MY  LOVE /  -    200 

CHRIST  BLESSING  LITTLE  CHILDREN,       ....        201 

PRINCE  AND  SERF,          .       .       .       .       ..      '.       .       .    202 

VICTORIA,    .       .       .,      .       ...       .       .      '.^       •        203 

INDEX,  207 


OLD  ACE,  AND  OTHER  POEMS 


OLD  ACE. 

CAN  any  pleasure  in  life  compare 
With  a  charming  drive  in  the  balmy  air  ? 
A  buggy  light  with  shimmering  wheel ; 
Springs  whose  resistance  you  barely  feel ; 
A  spirited  horse  of  royal  breed, 
With  just  a  little  more  style  and  speed 
Than  any  you  meet,  and  it  matters  not 
If  his  gait  be  pace  or  a  swinging  trot. 

The  tassel  sways  on  the  graceful  whip ; 
You  grasp  the  reins  with  a  tighter  grip  ; 
Your  horse  is  off  for  a  splendid  dash 
And  needs  no  touch  of  the  urging  lash. 
You  feel  the  puff  of  the  startled  air  ; 
It  floats  his  mane  and  it  lifts  your  hair  ! 
The  hoof  marks  time  with  its  measured  beat, 
For  the  singing  nostril  that  scorns  defeat ! 

One  glorious  day  in  the  balmy  spring 
John  Dorr  was  out  with  his  new  horse,  King. 
Though  both  were  rich,  it  was  his  design 
To  buy  him  a  faster  horse  than  mine. 
By  his  side  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  town, 
Of  handsome  features  and  eyes  so  brown, 


OLD  ACE. 


That  gazing  in  where  the  lashes  curled 
Was  like  a  view  of  another  world, 
Where  the  angel  lives  and  the  angel  sings ; 
And  she  was  one  that  had  dropped  her  wings 
And  come  to  earth  just  to  let  man  see 
How  sweet  the  angels  in  heaven  may  be  ! 
I  envied  the  breeze  its  constant  bliss 
Of  passing  her  cheek  and  stealing  a  kiss  ! 

I  loved  the  girl  when  we  both  were  young, 
But  getting  older  I'd  lost  my  tongue. 
I  learned  in  college  Latin  and  Greek, 
But  Cupid's  language  I  could  not  speak  ; 
While  Jack  was  perfect  in  Cupid's  art, 
The  only  language  he  knew  by  heart. 
I  envied  John  in  his  ride  that  day — 
And  jogged  old  Spot  in  a  leisure  way — 
That-two  mile  drive  to  the  sulphur  spring, 
To  test  the  speed  of  his  new  horse,  King. 

John  took  the  lead  and  it  touched  his  pride ; 
For  the  fastest  horse  and  the  fairest  bride 
Had  been  his  boast !     Did  I  pass  him  by  ? 
My  heart,  I  reckon,  could  answer  why — 
I'm  almost  certain  I  lost  the  race 
By  lagging  behind  to  look  at  Grace ! 

Jack  seemed  more  proud  of  his  horse  that  day 
Than  he  was  of  Grace,  which  made  me  say  : 
"  Be  sure  of  your  game  before  you  boast ; 
From  dead  defeat  there  may  rise  a  ghost ! 
I'll  race  you  back  to  the  town,"  said  I, 
"  For  Gracie's  glove  !  "     But  he  made  reply  : 
"  What  use  to  you  is  the  senseless  glove 
From  the  soft  white  hand  of  the  girl  I  love  ? 


OLD  ACE. 


Suppose  you  win,"  he  laughed  in  my  face, 
"  You  'get  the  mitten  '  and  I  get  Grace  ! " 
Said  I :  "  No  trophy  would  I  so  prize  " — 
And  I  caught  a  look  from  her  soft  brown  eyes 

That  drove  the  rest  of  it  out  of  my  head 

I  don't  remember  just  what  I  said  ! 

John  laughed  away  till  his  eyes  were  wet : 
"  Increase  the  wager  ;  I'll  take  the  bet !  " 

"  My  glove,"  said  Grace,  "  and  the  hand  within, 
Shall  be  the  prize  of  the  one  to  win  ! " 

I  looked  at  John,  but  he  didn't  chaff, 
He  didn't  smile  and  he  didn't  laugh  ! 
"  Must  I  then  race  you  for  such  a  bride," 
Said  John,  "  and  carry  the  load  beside  ?  " 

"I'll  carry,"  said  I,  "  the  precious  load  !  " 

Her  bright  eye  flashed  and  her  fair  cheek  glowed  ! 

She  took  her  seat  with  little  ado ; 

I  tucked  the  robe  and  my  heart  in  too  ! 

Said  I,  "  Old  Spot !  "  as  I  stroked  his  neck, 

And  rubbed  his  nose  and  loosened  his  check, 

"  She's  Bob's  own  Grace  if  you  do  your  best !  " 

He  pricked  his  ears  just  as  if  he  guessed 

The  time  had  come  when  his  master's  need 

Had  staked  all  happiness  on  his  speed. 

When  all  was  ready  Grace  shouted  "  Go  !  " 
A  word  both  horses  seemed  to  know. 
You  heard  the  hoof  with  its  measured  sway 
Pacing  along  the  great  highway. 
You  saw  the  swell  of  the  panting  side, 
The  pink  that  glows  in  the  nostril  wide. 


OLD  ACE. 


I  knew  old  Spot,  if  he  kept  that  pace, 
Would  win  my  choice  of  the  human  race. 
No  word  was  spoken  between  us  two  ; 
The  tongue  is  silent  when  hope  is  new, 
A  mile,  a  mile  and  a-half  we  sped, 
And  still  old  Spot  was  a  neck  ahead. 

Jack  touched  his  horse  with  the  tasseled  whip 
Then  Gracie,  pursing  her  rosy  lip, 
Uttered  a  sound  like  a  lover's  kiss  ; 

— pss —  !  pss — ss  ! — 
The  world  is  ruled  by  a  sound  like  this ! 
To  urge  a  horse  a  capital  plan, 
And  often  used  to  encourage  man, 
But  she  never  dreamed  she  had  let  me  in 
To  her  heart's  fond  wish  that  I  should  win. 

The  only  time  in  the  race  she  spoke 
Was  when,  over-urged,  Jack's  trotter  broke  : 
"  He's  running  his  horse  and  that's  not  fair  ! ' 
Then,  blushing  up  to  her  auburn  hair, 
She  grabbed  the  whip  from  my  willing  hand- 
A  move  that  Jack  seemed  to  understand— 
For  she  raised  it  high  as  much  as  to  say, 
Well,  running's  a  game  that  two  can  play ! 
So  he  brought  him  down  to  an  honest  trot, 
But  couldn't  keep  up  with  dear  old  Spot, 
Who  forged  ahead  when  he  saw  the  whip 
And  passed  the  stake  with  never  a  skip. 

On  through  the  village  he  kept  his  speed, 
For  I  was  too  happy  to  mind  the  steed ; 
He  would  not  stop  when  the  race  was  done, 
But  started  home  with  the  prize  he'd  won  ! 


THE   SWING. 


Nor  stopped  till  he'd  reached  the  farmhouse  gate, 
Where  good  old  mother  was  sure  to  wait. 
She  heard  the  story,  while  tears  of  joy 
Baptized  the  love  of  her  only  boy ! 

I  won  the  prize  and  I've  got  her  yet ! 
But  the  kiss  she  gave  I'll  never  forget ; 
'Twas  like  an  awakening  after  death, 
By  the  soft  caress  of  an  angel's  breath  ! 
It  seemed,  as  I  felt  her  arms  entwine, 
No  other  heaven  quite  equaled  mine. 

I  know  the  horse  is  a  trifle  old, 

But  you  can't  buy  him  with  all  your  gold  ! 

My  Gracie  loves  him  and  pats  his  neck, 

And  says  he's  the  best  card  in  the  deck ! 

And  rubs  his  nose  till  he  kisses  her  face ; 

She  has  changed  his  name  to  dear  old  Ace ! 

And  smiling  says  :  "  It's  the  proper  thing, 

For  it  takes  the  Ace  to  beat  the  King !  " 

As  she  purses  her  lips  for  the  well-known  smack 

I'm  glad  the  Queen  didn't  take  the  Jack  ! 


THE  SWING. 

GOOD  Daniel  was  a  thrifty  farmer's  son  ; 
A  generous  gift,  since  nature  gave  but  one. 

Of  manly  form,  to  hardihood  inured, 
While  modesty  his  better  worth  obscured. 

How  much  he  loved  fair  Ellen  Gray,  ah,  well ! 
He  hardly  dared  to  think,  much  less  to  tell. 


THE   SWING. 


'Twas  such  a  love  as  only  burns,  forsooth, 
Deep  in  the  bosom  of  some  bashful  youth. 

In  other  things  no  braver  man  than  he, 

But  Cupid  locked  his  breast  and  lost  the  key ; 

But  had  his  feelings  ever  taken  word, 

These  are  the  musings  Ellen  might  have  heard : 

"  What  can  be  fairer  than  the  rose  full  blown 
That  lives  within  a  fragrance  all  its  own ; 

"  As  though  its  velvet  cheek  some  virtue  knew 
To  blush  at  clinging  kiss  of  ardent  dew ! 

"  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  the  poets  sing, 
The  rose  is  but  a  dumb  and  senseless  thing, 

"  Whose  blushing  beauty  never  can  compare 
With  thine,  fair  Ellen  of  the  golden  hair  ! 

"  Such  loveliness  as  thine  must  ever  be 
Its  own  excuse  for  man's  idolatry  ! 

"  With  love  of  all  the  world  thou'rt  surely  blest, 
For  mine,  so  great,  makes  up  for  all  the  rest. 

"  Were  I  the  breeze,  I'd  steal  on  holy  ground, 
Nor  hasten  past,  but  eddying  round  and  round, 

"  In  one  eternal  kiss  upon  thy  cheek, 
Breathe  out  devotion  that  I  could  not  speak." 

The  more  one  loves  the  less  he  has  to  say  ; 
And  Dan  was  speechless,  loving  Ellen  Gray. 

Not  so  the  gushing  swell,  Fitz-Potter-Brown, 
Who  summered  there,  and  wintered  in  the  town 


THE   SWING. 


And  gave  his  ancestors  a  doubtful  fame 
By  tacking  them  with  hyphens  to  his  name. 

He  had  the  gift  of  speech,  if  not  the  art, 
And  occupied  her  time,  if  not  her  heart ; 

Esteemed  a  catch,  if  anyone  could  get  him  ; 
Could  compliment  when  his  conceit  would  let  him. 

He  dressed  in  that  extreme  which  fashion  shows 
When  one's  ambition  is  to  air  his  clothes  : 

As  over-blossoming  trees  bear  little  fruit, 
The  lesser  man  affects  the  louder  suit. 

'Twas  at  a  country  picnic  in  the  wood  ; 
Fifz-Potter  came,  since  Ellen  said  he  could. 

Where  giant  elms  their  lofty  branches  fling, 
There  Dan  had  fixed  the  good  old-fashioned  swing, 

While  tiny  sweethearts  in  brief  calico 
Waited  their  turn,  all  standing  in  a  row  ; 

And  oft  the  wood  with  joyous  laughter  rung, 
As  each  paid  Dan  a  kiss  for  being  swung. 

Since  gratitude  is  strong  when  years  are  few, 
The  more  impulsive  little  tots  gave  two. 

Ellen  would  swing — said  Brown,  with  many  a  smirk, 
"  I  caun't,  ye  know,  it's  quite  too  much  like  work ! 

"  But  I  will  awsk  that  splendid  athlete  there  ; 
Say,  Daniel,  won't  you  swing  my  lady  fair?  " 

"  'Twould  give  me  untold  pleasure  !  "  Dan  replies  ; 
Meanwhile  to  help  her  in  Fitz-Potter  tries. 


THE   SWING. 


Said  she  :  "  You  cannot  lift  me  up  so  high  ; 
Best  hold  the  board  and  let  good  Daniel  try  !  " 

Dan  lifts  her  in  as  one  would  lift  a  child, 

For  strength  was  ever  strong  when  beauty  smiled. 

The  smaller  swing-rope  'neath  the  seat  is  tied  ; 
At  first  he  pulls  it  gently  lest  she  chide. 

His  share  of  earth  he'd  give,  and  life's  young  hope, 
To  win  the  hand  now  clinging  to  that  rope  ; 

And  marvels  much  so  small  a  piece  of  board 
Should  hold  so  much,  so  much  is  she  adored. 

There's  music  in  the  rustle  of  her  gown  ; 

Dan's  heart  goes  up  whenever  hers  comes  down  ! 

He  hates  to  swing  her  from  him,  yet  he  knows 
She  will  return,  however  high  she  goes. 

Fair  Ellen  sees,  each  time  she  passes  by, 
Fresh  admiration  in  his  ardent  eye. 

Which  joy  it  is,  would  puzzle  her  to  say, 

Or  swing  or  Dan  most  takes  her  breath  away. 

Yet  higher  up  she  goes  till  Dan  perceives 
Her  dainty  foot  among  the  dainty  leaves. 

She  sails  the  air  as  one  floats  in  a  dream, 
Her  joy  accenting  with  a  timid  scream. 

Though  soaring  skyward  is  a  rare  delight, 
Some  angels  unaccustomed  are  to  flight ; 

And  when  she  smiles  'tis  easy  to  suppose 
That  she  is  one,  arrayed  in  modern  clothes. 


THE   SWING. 


Lest  gravitation's  law  she  disobey, 

He  pulls  her  back  for  fear  she  get  away  ; 

Until  the  rope  seems  but  some  new  device 
For  pulling  angels  out  of  Paradise  ! 

As  sways  the  eucalyptus  in  the  breeze, 

By  Dan's  strong  arm  is  Ellen  swung  with  ease. 

When  love  is  toiling,  toiling  is  but  play, 
And  yet  no  fairy  waif  is  Ellen  Gray  ; 

Though  Love  be  light,  'tis  not  all  frills  and  flounces, 
Each  precious  pound  holds  sixteen  precious  ounces  ! 

Tis  not  the  labor  makes  Dan's  brow  perspire, 
But  hope  aglow,  a  heart  with  love  on  fire. 

Though  from  each  graceful  sweep  soft  zephyrs  came 
To  cool  his  cheek,  they  further  fanned  the  flame. 

Gazing  entranced  he  "  lets  the  old  cat  die." 
"  I  fear  you're  tired,  Daniel !  "     "  No,  not  I ! 

"  I'd  like  to  swing  you  all  my  life  !  "  said  Dan, 
And  Ellen,  blushing,  said  :    "  Perhaps  you  can  !  " 

She  knows  his  worth  and  knows  he  loves  her  too ; 
And  helps  him,  just  as  any  girl  should  do. 

One  rarely  knows  what's  on  a  woman's  mind  ; 

Dan  might  have  known,  but  love  had  made  him  blind. 

To  help  her  meaning  she  her  hand  extends, 
And  loves  him  more  the  less  he  comprehends. 

What  most  we  wish  seems  hardest  to  acquire, 
Yet  nigh  at  hand  is  oft  the  heart's  desire. 


10  THE   SWING. 


Had  Daniel  known  that  hand  was  his  already, 
He  would  have  held  it  longer  and  more  steady. 

Meanwhile  Fitz-Potter-Brown  had  tried  in  vain 
To  sip  some  consolation  from  his  cane, 

Until  his  heart  thermometer  betrayed 
The  mercury  at  ninety  in  the  shade  ; 

Then  stepping  up  with  diplomatic  skill : 

"  I'll  help  her  out,  the  swing  has  made  her  ill!  " 

Said  she :   "  Who  helped  me  in  should  help  me  down  ; 
Again  you  hold  the  board,  Fitz-Potter-Brown  !  " 

Dan  lifts   her  down   with    far  more   strength    than 

grace, 
For  his  untutored  arms  get  out  of  place  ; 

And  over-cautious  lest  he  let  her  slip, 
He  multiplies  the  ardor  of  his  grip. 

Fair  Ellen  too,  as  gentle  counter-check, 

Puts  one  plump  arm  about  good  Daniel's  neck. 

Fitz-Potter  hems  and  haws  to  smother  pride, 
As  cautiously  he  beckons  Dan  aside. 

"  You  work  too  hawd  and  faw  too  little  pay — 
My  thanks,  and  those  of  my  sweet  Ellen  Gway ; 

"  This  perspiwation  mars  your  handsome  features  : 
Leave     toil     and     sweat     faw     beasts    and    wo'king 
creatures  !  " 

"  An  empty  head  holds  much  that  is  not  wise, 
And  gives  the  tongue  much  useless  exercise  ! 


THE   SWING.  II 


"  If  she  is  yours,  you've  ta'en  the  lesser  part," 

Said  Dan,  "  and  gained  the  hand  without  the  heart ! ' 

"  She  is  not  mine,  but  what  is  quite  the  same, 
I've  just  determined  she  shall  take  my  name  ! 

"  A  thing  you'd  hawdly  awsk,  although  you  love  her, 
For  she  is  one  would  marwy  much  above  her!  " 

Said  Dan  :  "  'Twould  be  indeed  a  petty  theft 
To  take  your  name,  you'd  have  so  little  left ! 

"  Nor  will  she,  sir,  while  she  retain  her  wits, 
Abjure  her  precious  name,  and  take  on  Fitz  ! " 

Meanwhile  a  little  tot  plucked  Ellen's  dress  : 
"  'Oo  didn't  pay  Dan  for  'oor  swing,  I  dess  ! 

"  We  all  dives  him  a  tiss  when  we  dits  froo  ! 
'Oo've  swung  so  long  'oo  better  div  him  two  ! " 

"  With  all  my  heart,  you  little  dear !  "  said  Nell ; 
"  I'll  throw  him  one,  perhaps  'twill  do  as  well." 

"  Don't  frow  a  tiss,  for  'at  would  on'y  waste  it ! 
A  tiss  aint  any  dood  unless  'oo  taste  it ! " 

"  Div  it  to  me  and  I  will  take  it  to  him  ! 
If  'oo  are  bashful,  one,  I  dess,  will  do  him  ! 

"  Here,  Daniel,  here  is  half  of  Ellen's  tiss ; 
'Oo'll  dit  the  other  half  where  I  dot  this  ! " 

Then  captive  led  him  back  to  Ellen  Gray  : 

"  Here's  Dan,  who  loves  'oo  !  this  I  heard  him  say — 

"  But  he's  so  very  bashful,  as  'oo  see, 
He's  blushin'  now  f'om  even  tissin'  me ! " 


12  UNCLE  EPH'S  HEAVEN. 

At  last  the  little  tot  had  loosed  his  tongue  ; 
And  sweeter  love-words  never  mortal  sung. 

"  I've  been  in  Cupid's  swing  beyond  a  doubt ! 
And  you,  my  little  Love-god,  helped  rne  out ! ' 

"  I  helped  'oo  out,  as  well  I  tould  afford, 
Since  I  had  Mr.  Brown  to  hold  ze  board ! 

"And  if  he's  mad  I  razzer  dess  'at  he 
Will  have  to  take  revenge  by  lovin'  me." 


UNCLE  EPH'S  HEAVEN. 

KIN  you  tell  dis  pore  ole  darky  jes'  how  fur  'tis  to  de 

sky? 
An'  de  way  I's  got  to  trabel  ?     'Caze  I  'spect  I's  gwine  to 

die. 

Kin  you  map  out  all  de  jou'ney,  and  esplain  it  all  to  me  ? 
Like  I  gwine  out'n  Georgia,  ober  dar  in  Tennessee  ? 
Kin  you  tole  me  all  aforetime  'zactly  whar  I  gwine  to  go  ? 
For  when  I's  dead,  ole  marster,  how  you  'spect  I  gwine  to 

know  ? 

Ef  de  sperit  leave  de  body,  whar  de  body  gwine  appeah  ? 
Is  de  spi'it  gwine  to  take  me,  or  gwine  to  leab  me  heah  ? 

What's  it  like  up  dar  in  glory,  whar  de  good  folks  go 

what  dies  ? 

In  de  gre't  etarnal  mansion,  way  up  yondah  in  de  skies  ? 
Is  it  like  de  ole  plantation,  de  place  whar  I  wah  bo'n  ? 
Does  dey  hab  de  watah-million,  an'  de  cotton  an  de 

cawn? 


UNCLE  EPH'S  HEAVEN. 


Does  dey  hab  de  sweet-pertater,  an'  de  possum  an'  cle 

coon  ? 
Kin   you  go  out  dar  a-huntin',  in  de  glimmer  ob  de 

moon  ? 
Does  dey  gadder  roun'  de  cabin  wid  de  banjo  on  de 

knee  ? 
Ef  it's  like  to  ole  Verginny,  den  it's  heav'n  enough  for 

me  ! 

I  done   hear  de  cullud  parson,  in   his  sanctermonous 

tones, 
Say  de  walls  wah  made  ob  jaspah,  an'  de  gates  o'  precious 

stones  ; 
Say  dey  got  no  use  for  silber,  mus'  be  di'mon's,  pearl,  an; 

gol'; 
I  reckon   he  done  guessin'  ;   what  he  know  about  de 

soul  ? 

Says  de  fruit  is  eberlastin'  all  along  de  gol'en  street  ; 
Don'  you  t'ink  dat   sawt  o'  pavement  gwine  hurt  Uncle 

Ephr'am's  feet  ? 
Radder  hab  de  grassy  meadow,  an'  cle  good  ole-fashion 

tree, 
Like  we  had  in  old  Verginny  ;  den  it's  heav'n  enough  fo' 

me. 

When  I  done  lose  my  color,  does  you  reckon  I   turn 

white  ? 
Den  dey  say  :  "  Ole  Uncle  Ephr'am,  he  done  gone  an'  got 

a  fright  !  " 
Ef  I's  white  like  dat  dar  image   ob   de   angel   on  de 

shelf 
De  Lawd  he  wouldn'  know  me  ;  'spect  I  wouldn'  know 

myself. 


14  UNCLE  EPH'S  HEAVEN. 

How  you   'spect  I  wear  dat  garmint  an'   all  dem  sort 

o'  t'ings  ? 
I's  a  heap  too  ole  fo'  flyin' ;  how  you  'spect  I  look  wid 

wings  ? 

Ef  I  done  go  a-harpin'  an'  wear  dat  gol'en  crown 
Someone  comes  erlong  what  knows  me — calls  ole  Uncle 

Ephr'am  down. 

All  I  wants  is  jes'  git  in  dar,  in  thoo  de  kitchen  do' ; 
Waitin'   on   de   Lawd   an'   Marster,   wouldn'   awsk  fer 

nothin'  mo' ; 
Takin*  car  about   de  hosses,  keep  de  cattle  out'n  de 

cawn; 

Playin'  wid  de  little  chillun,  little  chillun  on  de  lawn  ; 
Dar's  heaps  o'  chillun  yondah  knows  ole  Uncle  Ephr'am 

well; 
An'  de  Kingdom's  full  o'  chillun  I  done  heah  de  parson 

tell; 
An'  when  dee  heahs  my  fiddle  gwine  to  gadder  roun'  my 

knee, 
Like  dey  did  in  ole  Verginny  !  dat's  de  heav'n  I  wants 

to  see ! 

I's  been  tryin'  to  1'arn  ezactly  what  de  Christian  ought  to 

do; 
Dat's  why  I's  been,  ole  marster,  all  dese  years  a-watchin' 

you. 
I  knows  you's  boun'  git  in  dyah  'caze  you's  been  so  good 

an'  kin', 
An'  I  hates  to  go  an'  leab  you — leab  you  waitin'  heah 

behin'. 

I  sees  you's  gittin'  drowsy  ;  now  befo'  you  gwine  asleep, 
Won'  you  please  to  tell  ole  Ephr'am  'bout  de  Shepherd 

an  de  sheep  ? 


PALESTINE:'  15 


Tole  dat  story  'bout  de  sheepfol',  an'  about  de  sheepfol' 

bin, 
Whar  de  white  sheep  an'  de  black  sheep  gwine  to  be  all 

gaddered  in. 

Wharfo'  you  git  so  sleepy  ev'y  time  I  bresh  you'  hyar  ? 
Hoi'  up  you  head,  ole  marster,  else  you  gwine  fall  out'n 

de  chyar ! 
Sleepin'  wid  yo'  eyes  wide  open  ?     What's  up  dar  you 

gazin'  at  ? 
Why,  what's  de  matter,  marster  ? — never  seed  you  look 

like  dat ! 
To'  de  Lawd  I  t'inks  you  dyin'  !  no  !  no  !  Marster,  don' 

you  go, 
An'  leab  you'  pore  ole  Ephr'am  watchin',  waitin'  heah 

below ! 
Does  you  see  de  angels  comin'  dat  you'  face  is  turn'  so 

white  ? 
Bress  de  Lawd,  I  sees  you  smilin'  like  you  foun'  de  way 

all  right ! 


"PALESTINE." 

A  LITTLE  maid  at  Sunday-school, 
And  golden  hair  and  Golden  Rule 

To  her  are  quite  the  same. 
She  hears  the  story  she  loves  best, 
How  Jesus  little  children  blest, 
Gets  Peter  mixed  up  with  the  rest — 

The  child  is  not  to  blame, 
For  Matthew,  Mark,  and  Luke,  and  John, 
All  she  can  fix  her  mind  upon, 

Are  sure  to  get  the  glory. 


16  "PALESTINE." 


But  speak  of  Jesus  crucified, 

E'en  though  she  know  not  why  he  died, 

Her  little  ears  are  open  wide 

To  catch  the  sacred  story. 
The  light  of  heaven  is  in  her  eye, 
A  bit  of  blue  ta'en  from  the  sky  ; 
You  see  the  angels,  by  the  bye, 

Reflected  in  them  shine. 
She  asks,  "  And  where  did  Jesus  live  ? 

And  is  it  far  to  Palestine  ? 
One-half  of  life  I'd  freely  give, 

If  I  could  go  to  Palestine — 

Across  the  sea  to  Palestine." 

A  maiden  grown  so  beautiful, 
To  worship  her  seems  dutiful ; 

So  thinks  the  ardent  youth. 
They  sit  together  in  the  pew 
And  worship  God  as  lovers  do  : 
God  gets  one  thought  and  love  gets  two, 

If  they  confess  the  truth. 
If  each  love  each  with  one  accord 
A  trifle  better  than  their  Lord 

'Tis  but  young  love's  emotion. 
E'en  while  she  hears  the  sermon  said, 
The  thought  that  next  month  she'll  be  wed 
But  makes  her  cheek  the  brighter  red 

To  prove  the  heart's  devotion. 
The  light  of  heaven  is  in  her  eye  ; 
A  bit  of  blue  ta'en  from  the  sky, 
He  thinks  :  "  No  angel  from  on  high 

Is  half  so  fair  as  mine." 
And  yet  no  love  can  take  away 

That  early  thought  of  Palestine  : 


"PALESTINE."  17 


"  One-fourth  of  life,"  he  hears  her  say, 
"I'd  give  to  go  to  Palestine — 
Across  the  sea  to  Palestine." 

A  loving  mother  at  whose  knee 
Fair  children  learn  of  Galilee, 

As  she  who  teaches  them 
First  learned  to  love,  then  to  adore, 
And  worship  her  dear  Saviour  more. 
Longing  to  see  that  distant  shore, 

Where  lies  Jerusalem  ; 
A  Christian  mother  grown  in  grace 
Until  upon  her  very  face 

You  read  the  sacred  story  ; 
As  leaves  of  autumn  blushing  hold 
All  of  the  summer's  sunset  gold, 
So  that  the  year  when  growing  old 

May  be  baptized  in  glory. 
Or  like  some  rainbow  fallen  down, 
Upon  the  mountain,  old  and  brown, 
Bright  as  the  halo's  circled  crown 

Of  Jesus,  the  divine. 
The  less  of  life  she  has  to  live, 

The  more  she  longs  for  Palestine  ; 
One-tenth  of  life  she'd  freely  give 

Could  she  but  go  to  Palestine — 

Across  the  sea  to  Palestine. 

Grandmother  old,  with  aproned  lap 
And  hair  much  whiter  than  her  cap — 

For  in  those  tresses  hoary 
A  lifetime's  purity  is  caught — 
As  if  some  silkworm  deftly  wrought 

The  silken  texture  of  her  thought 

Into  a  crown  of  glory. 


PALESTINE? 


A  face  so  pleasant  all  the  while, 
Not  age,  but  the  accustomed  smile, 

Had  furrowed  wrinkles  there. 
The  day  of  youth  in  glory  dies  ; 
The  moon  her  cloudy  pennant  flies 
Up  the  blue  ocean  of  the  skies  ; 

Old  age  and  moon  compare. 
When  dusk  hath  heralded  the  night, 
Then  with  a  soft  and  borrowed  light 
From  out  another  world  more  bright 

Both  faces  seem  to  shine. 
The  less  of  life  she  has  to  live, 

Still  longing  for  dear  Palestine, 
The  less  of  life  she  has  to  give  — 

One  year  to  go  to  Palestine  — 

Across  the  sea  to  Palestine. 


Old  age  sits  nodding  in  her  chair. 

Her  thoughts  are  what  ?     Her  thoughts  are  where 

Who  knows  what  age  is  thinking  ? 
Long  hours  she'll  sit  and  croon  and  wait, 
As  though  she  did  anticipate 
Some  angel  at  the  garden  gate. 

They  watch  her  slowly  sinking, 
Enfeebled,  wrinkled,  withered  age, 
Her  finger  resting  on  the  page 

For  years  she  has  not  read — 
That  sacred  Book  of  truth  divine, 
The  very  page,  the  very  line 
That  points  the  way  to  Palestine. 

One  nod,  and  she  is  dead  ! 
How  many  harps  are  left  unstrung, 
How  many  songs  are  left  unsung, 


DON'T   YOU  THINK  SO,    BILL?  19 

Like  prayers  that  never  reach  the  tongue, 

Yet  heard  by  the  Divine  ! 
Her  longing  ended  at  the  grave  ; 

She  went  at  last  to  Palestine — 

Another  way  to  Palestine. 
And  all  her  Christian  life  she  gave 

To  go  and  live  in  Palestine — 

That  fairer,  holier  Palestine. 


DON'T  YOU  THINK  SO,  BILL? 

SAY,  Bill,  I've  been  a-thinkin' !  you  know  how  a  feller 
feels 

When  he  somehow  thinks  of  nothin';  dead  in  love,  head 
over  heels  ; 

Like  a  frog  that's  in  the  water  buried  all  except  his  eyes  ; 

Just  a-winkin'  and  a-blinkin'  at  some  frog  for  whom  he 
sighs  ; 

I've  enjoyed  that  sort  o'  feelin',  it's  been  comin'  on  for 
years — 

Like  a  flutter  in  the  bosom,  like  a  twitter  in  the  ears. 

Some  say  marriage  is  a  failure ;  but  I'm  willin'  to  con 
fess 

That  for  unalloyed  emotion,  sparkin's  jist  a  grand  suc 
cess  ! 

Don't  you  think  so,  Bill  ? 

Some  say  marriage  is  a  failure  !  Well,  what  else  can 
they  expect  ? 

One  can  have  a  business  failure  on  about  the  same  neg 
lect. 


20  DON'T    YOU   THINK  SO,   BILL? 

Pay  a  wife  as  much  attention  as  you  do  the  vines  you 

start, 
And  the  grapes  of  love  will  cluster  on  the  trellis  of  the 

heart ! 
Take  one-half  the  pains  to  cherish,  that  you  did  to  gain 

her  love, 
And  you'll  find  her  just  the  angel   you've   been  always 

dreamin'  of ! 
But  when  talkin'  of  the  cherubs,  don't  forget  my  Bessie 

Grey; 

She  can  discount  all  the  angels  flyin'  up  the  Milky  Way  ! 
Don't  you  think  so,  Bill? 

Her  father  lost  his  fortune  in  that  mine  at  Silver  Hill ; 
Then  became  a  helpless   cripple   at   the  fallin'   o'  the 

mill ; 
When  misfortune  comes  a-callin'  she  will  bring  a  friend 

next  day  ; 
And  the  more  she  is   unwelcome,  why,  the   longer  she 

will  stay. 
What  a  heap  of  friends  go  flyin'  when  one's  riches  take 

on  wings; 
And  the  pinch  o'  want  seems  harder  from  the  thought 

o'  better  things  ! 
But  they  found  the  horn   of  plenty  one  mornin'  at  the 

door  ; 
I    suspect   the   Master  Masons— they   have   done   such 

things  before ! 

Don't  you  think  so,  Bill  ? 

I'd  consent  to  be  a  cripple,  havin'  Bessie  all  the  while  ;  ^ 
There's  a  glint  of  heaven's  glory  in  that  pretty  maiden's 
smile ! 


DON'T    YOU   THINK  SO,    BILL?  21 

Her  face  is  like  the  sunrise,  when  the  first  faint  blushes 
say, 

Stealin'    up    the    cheek    o'    mornin', — "  Here's   another 
pleasant  day!  " 

Eyes — much  like  the  eyes  of  angels,  fashioned  from  the 
blue  above, 

With  a  little  touch  o'  human,  just  to  teach  man  how  to 
love! 

Lots  o'  times  I've  been  there  callin'  and  started  to  pro 
pose, 

But  my  tongue  would  stop  a-talkin'  every  time  my  heart 
arose  ! 

Don't  you  think  so,  Bill? 

Makin'  love   is   mighty   easy — but   when   you've  got   it 

made, 
How  you  goin'  to  tell  her  of  it,  if  you  haven't  learned  the 

trade  ? 
Well,  I   got   so  very  bashful   that  I   tried  the  German 

plan  : 
"  Ich  Hebe  dick,  mem  fraulein  /  "  but    she  answered  : 

"  Nicht  fur stan  /  " 
Then  I  answered  :   "  I  am  pleadin'  for   a  friend  o'  mine 

by  birth ; 
Who  would  give  the  earth  to  have  you  if  he  only  had  the 

earth ! " 
Then  she  answered  :     "  Tell  your  friend,  who  seems  so 

wealthy  in  his  thought, 
I'm  another's — and  that  makin'  love  by  proxy  comes  to 

naught ! " 

Don't  you  think  so,  Bill  ? 

To  hear  she  loved  another  put  my  senses  in  a  whirl ; 
I'd  rather  lose  my  bein'  than  have  lost  that  lovely  girl : 


22  DON'T    YOU   THINK  SO,   BILL? 

And  I  started  in  a-sobbin',  when   she  stole  behind  my 

chair, 
And  I  felt  her  pretty  fingers  playin'  love-notes  in  my 

hair: 
"  If  you're  pleadin'  for  a  stranger,  better  let  the  stranger 

cry ! " 
Then  I  had  to  up  and  tell  her  that  the  friend  I  meant 

was  I ! 
With  her  cheek  to  mine  she  whispered — O,  how  sweet 

some  words  can  be  ! 
She  had  always  loved  another — but  that  other  one  was 

me! 

Don't  you  think  so,  Bill  ? 

People    say    I'm    goin'   crazy,  wastin'  money  day  and 

night : 
Runnin'  tunnels  in  the  mountain  !  and  to-day  I   guess 

they're  right : 
In  the  bosom  of  the  mountain  I've  just  struck  the  heart 

of  gold, 
And  learned  how  much  o'  happiness  a  mortal  man  can 

hold! 
I'm  goin'  to  tell  my  Bessie  what  good  luck  her  kisses 

bring, 
And  she'll  hug  her  cripple  father !     He'll  get  up  and 

dance  and  sing ! 

One  is  pretty  safe  in  sayin'  that  heaven's  begun  below, 
When  he's  got  the  blessed  angel  and  the  happiness  to 

show ! 

Don't  you  think  so,  Bill  ? 


PAT'S  CONFEDERATE  PIG.  23 

PAT'S  CONFEDERATE  PIG. 

WHEN  the  war  broke  out  Pat  was  first  to  enlist ; 
He'd  fight  wid  shillaly  or  fight  wid  his  fist. 

Now  Patrick  was  fresh  from  the  ould,  ould  sod, 
And  carried  a  gun  as  he'd  carry  a  hod. 

He'd  soon  learn  to  shoot  it,  he  hadn't  a  doubt, 

If  they'd  put  in  the  load  while  he'd  watch  it  come  out ; 

But  when  he  had  shot  it,  he  said  he  had  ruther 

Be  pricked  wid  the  one  end  than  kicked  wid  the  other. 

His  rations  of  whisky  he'd  drink  at  one  swig ; 
And  never  mark  time  but  he'd  end  with  a  jig. 

They  went  to  the  front ;  Pat  thought  it  was  hard, 
The  very  first  night  to  be  put  upon  guard, 

Yet  he  paced  back  and  forth,  out  in  the  night  air, 
Rehearsing  his  "  Halt ! "  and  "  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  I'm   to  shoot  the  Confederate  straight  through  the 

heart- 
But  how  is  a  stranger  to  tell  'em  apart  ? 

"  I'll  know  Mr.  Rebel,  the  officers  say, 

By  the  clothes  he  has  on,  supposed  to  be  gray. 

"  Is  a  gentleman  judged  by  the  cut  of  his  clothes, 
As  a  toper  is  told  by  the  tint  of  his  nose  ? 

"  But  how  can  I  tell  if  he  come  in  the  dark  ? 
Must  I  judge  of  the  tree  by  feelin'  the  bark  ? 

"  I'll  be  sure  of  his  wardrobe,  bedad,  ere  I  shoot ! 
To  be  the  right  man  he  must  wear  the  wrong  suit ! 


24  PAT'S  CONFEDERATE  PIG. 

"  I  think  I'll  surround  him,  the  first  thing  I  say, 
Then  ax  him  this  question  :  '  Your  coat,  is  it  gray  ?  ' 

"  But  I  swear  by  the  whisky  that's  in  my  canteen, 
I'll  not  trouble  him  if  he's  wearing  the  green." 

Tis  late  in  the  night — all  the  camp  is  asleep — 
When  Pat  hears  a  noise  that  makes  his  flesh  creep ! 

Something  crawls   through  the  brush  !   Pat  holloes  out 

"  Halt !  " 
And  "  Who  goes  there  ?     If  you're  deaf,  it's  your  fault ! " 

All  he  hears  is  "  R-r-ruff  !  R-r-ruff !  "     That  sounds  like 

a  grunt — 
"  He  's  a  rough,  sure,"  says  Pat,  "  for  his  language  is 

blunt ! 

"  March  here  and  surrender,  me  Reb,  or  you  die  ! 
Come  !  out  wid  yer  business  !  I'll  bet  you're  a  spy!  " 

"  U-g-h-w-e-e  !  U-g-h-w-e-e  ! "  "  Holy  murther  !    What 

language  is  that  ? 
'Tis  some  foreign  tongue,  I'll  be  blowed  !  "  muttered  Pat.  . 

"  An  officer  sure — but  betwixt  you  and  me, 
Is  the  whole  army  wid  ye  ?  "    "  U-g-h-w-e-e  !    U-g-h- 
w-e-e  !    U-g-h-w-e-e  !   U-g-h-w-e-e!  " 

"  We  !  we  !  "  muttered  Pat ;  "  surely  that's  French    for 

yes. 
I'll  capture  an  army  !     Hold,  aisy— I  guess 

"  I'd  better  have  help— so  I'll  call  up  the  crowd  : 
The  Rebels  are  on  us  !  "  he  cries  out  aloud. 


PAT'S  CONFEDERATE   PIG.  25 

"  The  Rebels  are  on  us  !  "     Out  rush  the  whole  corps, 
Surrounding  the  wood  which  they  quickly  search  o'er, 

Then  sweep  through  the  brush  at  a  double-quick  jog ; 
But  all  they  can  find  is  a  dirty  white  hog. 

They  cursed  till  they  laughed  and  laughed  till  they  cried  ; 
For  rousing  the  army  next  day  Pat  was  tried. 

"  Court-martialed  ?  "  said  Pat — "  My  offense  is  not  big, 
Why  not  try  the  army  for  rousin*  the  pig  ? 

"  But  since  I've  no  lawyer  to  fix  up  my  case 
Wid  fiction — I'll  give  ye  the  truth  in  its  place. 

"He  came  in  the  noight  wid  his  heart  in  his  mouth, 
Like  an  honest  Confederate,  straight  from  the  South. 

"  I  axed  him  this  question,  for  I  couldn't  see  : 

'  Are  you,  sir,  a  spy  ?  '     Then  he  answered  :  •  We  !  we !  • 

"  As  I  am  a  soldier,  I'll  ne'er  dance  a  jig — 
But  he  was  a  reg'lar  Confederate  pig. 

"I've  brought  into  court,  to  confirm  wha"  I  say, 
These  bristles,  that  prove  he  was  wearin'  the  '  gray.' 

"  'Tis  all  that  was  left  me,  I'm  sad  to  relate — 
The  rest  of  the  pig,  sirs,  you  officers  ate. 

"  To  speak  out  me  moind,  sure  I'll  die  but  it's  true  : 
There's  many  a  pig  here  that's  wear  in'  the  blue  !  " 


26  LITTLE  NED'S    WAGON. 


LITTLE  NED'S  WAGON. 

WIDOW  CARNEY  took  in  washin'.     Twas  her  way  of 

earnin'  bread  ; 
And  she  learned  about  how  chapely  human  bein's  may 

be  fed. 

Life  was  loike  her  occupation — nothin'  but  a  constant 

rub; 
And  her  airy  castles  vanished  loike  the  bubbles  in  her 

tub. 

But  she  had  one  constant  comfort :  little  Ned,  her  only 

choild, 
Whom  she  called  her  "  soilent  partner,"  at  the  which  he 

always  smoiled ; 

Said  :  "  he  only  carried  bundles  whoile  his  mother  did 

the  work  ; 
Was    the    horse  widout  the  wagin — a  sort  o'   runnin' 

clerk ! " 

Whin  the  bundles  were  too  heavy  little  Ned  would  not 

complain  ; 
He'd  simply  rest  more  often,  thin  he'd  up  and  off  again. 

Ef  he  only  had  a  wagin  he'd  be  runnin'  all  the  way, 
Jist  to  see  the  wheels   go   spinnin',  turnin'  labor  into 
play! 

Ef  he  only  had  a  wagin  what  big  bundles   he  could 

take; 
And  his  mother  heard  him  prayin' :  "  Sind  me  one,  for 

Jesus'  sake ! " 


LITTLE  NED'S    WAGON.  27 

Pretty  soon  he  got  acquainted  wid  the  man  who  kept  the 

sthore, 
Where  he'd  stop  to  try  the  wagins  ivery  toime  he'd  pass 

the  door ; 

Till  the  merchint  said  one  mornin' :  "  Little  Ned,  ye're 

very  nice  ! 
Ef  you  want  a  little  wagin,  yo'  shall  have  one  half  the 

price ; " 

Runnin'  home  he  towld  his  mother,  and  he  thought  he 

heard  her  say  : 
"  I  can  do  widout  me  sugar ;  I  can  do  widout  me  tay  !  " 

Little    Ned    jist    thought  his  mother  was  an  angel  on 

parade  ; 
And  about  the  sweetest  creature  that  the  Lord  had  iver 

made ! 

Whin  Ned  came  home  to  supper,  she  was  hid  behoind 

the  door, 
To  watch  him  foind  the  wagin ;  see  his  little  heart  run 

o'er. 

Said  he  wasn't  very  hungry,  so  the  wittles  had  to  wait 
Till  he  tried  his  yaller  wagin,  runnin'  up  and  down  the 
strate  : 

Wilth  an'  power  hold  no  pleasure,  no  sinsation  loike  to 

that 
Throbbin'  in  the  little  bosom  underneath  the  faded  hat ! 

After  supper,  by  his  wagin,  on  the  floor  sat  little  Ned, 
Whoile  his  mother  from  the  paper  wid  some  difficulty 
read. 


28  LITTLE  NED'S    WAGON. 

Readin'  isn't  very  asy  where  ye  spell  it  as  ye  go, 
And  are  forced  to  guess   the  meanin'  of  the  words  ye 
may  not  know. 

"  Did   you  moind   how  I    was  readin',  and    what   the 

paper  said 
About  the  widow  Farley,  wid  her  husban'  lately  dead  ? 

"  Who  had  left  her  moity  little,  save  the  memory  of  his 

sins, 
And  the  sweetest  pair  o'  babies  iver  found  out  they  were 

twins. 

"  Though   the  paper  says  the  babies  are  the  value  of 

two  farms, 
She's  too  poor  to  give  them  airin'  save  she  toat  them  in 

her  arms  ; 

"  And  it  wants  some  koindly  person,  who  has  such  a 

thing  to  spare, 
To  sind  round  a  baby  carriage  big  enough  to  howld  the 

pair." 

Whoile  Ned's  heart  was  in  his  wagin  he  was  payin'  little 

heed 
To  his  mother's  elocution,  or  the  matther  she  moight 

read; 

But  whin  she  spoke  o'  babies,  he  stopped   her  in  her 

talk: 
"  How  long  before  two  babies  could  teach  thimselves  to 

walk  ?  " 

"Well,  Ned,  I'll  try  to  answer,  though  your  question's 

very  queer : 
Ef  they're  Yankee-Irish  babies,  faith  they'll  larn  widin 

the  year." 


LITTLE  NED'S    WAGON.  29 

His  heart  was  in  a  struggle— how  to  let  his  wagin  go  ; 
For  those  precious  little  babies  kept  on  pullin'  at  it  so. 

With  his  head  laid  on  the  wagin,  fell  asleep  wid  many 

sighs  ; 
And  his  mother  guessed  the  reason  for  the  tears  ran 

from  his  eyes 

Loike  great  drops  of  punctuation  in  his  broken,  sleepy 

talk  :— 

"  A   year— before — two    babies— could    teach— selves- 
walk  ; " 

Said  his  mother,  in  the  mornin' :  "  Why  so  early  at  yer 

play  ?  " 
She  didn't  catch  his  answer,  but  she  saw  him  run  away 

Up  the  strate  and  round  the  corner  :— "  Faith,  I   know 

what  he's  about ; 
And  he'll  niver  ate  his  breakfast  till  he  takes  those  babies 

out. 

"  Such   a  noble  little  fellow :    sure,   ef    death   tore  us 

apart 
I  would  shortly  follow  after  wid  me  sad  an'  broken  heart ; 

"  An'  I'd  foind  him  way  up  yonder,  wid  a  wagin  by   his 

side, 
Axin'  all  the  baby  angels—'  Would  they  loike  to  take  a 

ride  ? '  " 

Pretty  soon  she  heard  him  comin',  full  o'  grief  and  full  o' 

joy : 
"  Are  ye  laughin',  Ned,  or  cryin'  ?    what's  the  tnatther 

wid  me  boy  ?  " 


3°       FOREIGN   VIEWS  OF  THE  STATUE. 

"  I  wint  round  to  Mrs.  Farley's,  where  those  little  babies 

live, 
An'  she  axed  me  what  I  wanted,  but  I  said  I'd  come  to 

give— 

"  Give  the  little  twins  my  wagin — though  I  stumbled  in 

me  talk — 
Ef  she'd  please  to  let  me  have  it  whin  the  babies  larned 

to  walk ; 

"  Thin  she  took  me  in  an'  showed   me  how  her  little 

house  was  full 
Of  those  pretty  baby  wagins  what  yo'  push,  and  niver 

pull: 

"  Said  the  people  '  koindly  sent    'em  !— God   bless  ye, 

little  lad  ; 
But  I  couldn't  take  yer  wagin  : '     Thin  I  cried,  I  was  so 

glad !  " 


FOREIGN  VIEWS   OF   THE   STATUE. 

ON  the  deck  of  a  steamer  that  came  up  the  Bay 
Some  garrulous  foreigners  gathered  one  day, 
To  vent  their  opinions  of  matters  and  things 

On  this  side  the  Atlantic, 

In  language  pedantic. 
'Twas  much  the  same  gathering  as  any  ship  brings. 

"  Ah,  look  ! "  said  the  Frenchman,  with   pride  his  lip 

curled  ; 

"  See  ze  Liberte  Statue  enlighten  ze  world  ! 
Ze  grandest  colossal  zat  evair  vas  known  ! 
Thus  Bartholdi,  he  speak  : 
Vive  la  France — Amerique  ! 
La  belle  France  make  ze  statue,  and  God  make  ze  stone  ! 


FOREIGN   VIEWS  OF   THE   STATUE.        31 

Said  the  Scotchman  :    "  Na  need  o'  yer  spakin'  sae  free  ! 
The  thing  is  na  sma',  sir,  that  we  canna  see. 
Do  ye  think  that  wi'oot  ye  the  folk  couldna  tell  ? 

Sin'  'tis  Liberty's  Statye, 

I  kenna  why  that  ye 
Didna  keep  it  at  hame  to  enlighten  yoursel' !  " 

The  Englishman  gazed  through  his  watch-crystal  eye  ; 
"  Ton  'onor,  by  Jove,  it  is  too  beastly  high  ! 
A  monstwosity,  weally,  too  large  to  be  seen  ! 

In  pwoportion,  I  say, 

It's  too  large  faw  the  Bay. 
So  much  larger  than  one  we've  at  'ome  of  the.  Queen  !  " 

An  Italian  next  joined  the  colloquial  scrimmage  : 

"I  dress-a  my  monkey  just  like-a  de  image, 

I  call-a  '  Bartholdi,' Frenchman  got  spunky — 

Call-a  me  '  Macaroni,' 

Lose-a  me  plenty  moany  ! 
He  break-a  my  organ  and  keel-a  my  monkey  ! 

"  My-a  broder  a  feesherman  :  hear-a  what  he  say  : 
No  more-a  he  catch-a  de  feesh  in  de  Bay ; 
He  drop-a  de  sein, — he  no  get-a  de  weesh. 

When  he  make-a  de  grab-a, 

Only  catch-a  de  crab-a, 
De  big-a  French  image  scare  away  all  de  feesh !  " 

"  By  the  home  rule  !  "  said  Pat,  "  and  is  that  Libertee  ? 

She's  the  biggest  old  woman  that  iver  I  see  ! 

Phy  don't  she  sit  down  ?     'Tis  a  shame  she's  to  stand. 
But  the  truth  is,  Oi'm  towld 
That  the  stone  is  too  cowld. 

Would  ye  moind  the  shillalah  she  holds  in  her  hand  ! " 


3 2        FOREIGN    VIEWS   OF   THE   STATUE. 

Said    the   Cornishman :     "  Thaat's    noa   '  shillalah,'   ye 

scaamp  ! 

Looaks  to  I  like  Diogenes'  'ere  wi'  'is  laamp, 
Searchin'  haard   fur  a  'onest  maan."     "  Faith,   that   is 
true," 

Muttered  Pat,  "  phat  ye  say, 
Fur  he's  lookin'  my  way, 
And  by  the  same  favor  don't  recognize  you  !  " 

"  Shust  vait  unt  I  dolt  you,"  said  Hans  ;  "  vats  der  mat 
ter, 

It  vas  von  of  dem  mermaits  coomed  ouwd  fun  der  vater 
Unt  she  hat  noddings  on  ;  unt  der  vintry  vind  plows, 
Unt  fur  shame,  unt  fur  pidy, 
She  vent  to  der  cidy, 
Unt  buyed  her  a  suit  fun  der  reaty-mate  clo's." 

Says  the  Yankee  ;     "I've  heerd  ye  discussin'  her  figger  ; 
And  I  reckon  you  strangers  haint  seen  nuthin'  bigger. 
Wai,  I  haint  much  on  boastin'  but  I'll  go  my  pile  : 
When  you  fur  reners  cum 
You'll  find  her  to  hum  ! 

Dew  I  mean  what  I   say  ?     Wai,  somewhat— I  should 
smile  !  " 

"  Me  no  sabee  you  Foleners  ;  too  muchee  talkee  ! 
You  no  like  Idol,  you  heap  takee  walkee. 
Him  allee  same  Chinaman  velly  big  Joshee, 

Him  Unclee  Sam  gal-ee  ; 

Catch  um  lain,  no  umblallee  ! 
Heap  velly  big  shirtee — me  no  likee  washee  ! " 


LITTLE    TIM'S   TOBACCO.  33 


LITTLE   TIM'S   TOBACCO. 

STOOD  the  grocer  on  the  counter,  ranging  goods  upon  the 

shelf  ; 
Having  no   one  to  converse    with   he  was    talking    to 

himself, 

When  little  Tim  came  toddling  up  and  gazing  round  the 

store, 
Until  his  stock  of  patience  wouldn't  serve  him  any  more. 

"  Pray,  Mister  man,  dest  listen  a  'ittle  bit  to  me! 
Has  'oo  dot  some  tobacco  ?  I  dess  'at's  it  I  see  ! 

"And  is  it  dood  for  smokin'?    And  please  dive  me  a  lot ; 
I's  brought  along  a  penny  and  'ants  the  best  'oo's  dot." 

The  grocer's  hearty  laughter  dies  into  a  tender  smile, 
As  he  thinks  of  such  a  darling  he  once  followed  down 
the  aisle. 

In  that  package  of  tobacco  he  somehow  forgets  to  weigh, 
If  he  cheats  himself,  no  matter,  makes  it  up  some  other 
day. 

And  little  Tim  comes  often  with  his  penny  to  the  store  ; 
And  the  man  with  careless  guessing  gives  each  time  a 
little  more. 

Till  one  day  the  grocer  asks  the  little  fellow,  just  in  fun  : 
"  Since  you  buy  so  much  tobacco,  do  you  smoke,  my  little 

son  ?  " 

"  Tobacco  wasn't  made,  I  dess,  for  tiny  'ittle  folks ; 

I  buys  it  for  my  dranpa,  sir,  because  my  dranpa  smokes. 


34  LITTLE    TIM'S   TOBACCO. 

"  He  hasn't  had  much  tumfort  since  my  precious  mamma 

died, 
And  papa  brought  anozzer  lady  which  he  tails  his  bride. 

"  She  burned  all  ze  tobacco — said  it  was  a  vicious  taste  : 
Since  he  hadn't  any  money  he'd  have  none  of  hers  to 
waste ; 

"  And  she  moved  him  to  ze  garret,  where  I  always  goes 

to  play ; 
So  I  takes  him  zis  tobacco  and  I  lets  him  smoke  all  day ; 

"  For  he's  very,  very  feeble  and  he's  noffin  else  to  do  ; 
If  it  is  a  waste  o'  money,  it's  a  heap  o'  tumfort  too  : 

"  Please  to  dive  me  all  you  tan,  sir,  and  I'll  dive  you  my 

last  penny, 
For  I's  toot  'em  from  my  bank  at  home  until  zer  isn't 

any !  " 

"  Keep   your    penny  ! "   said    the  grocer,  "  that's  your 

change,  my  little  dear  ! 

For  tobacco  is  much  cheaper."     Ah,  'tis  cheaper  by  a 

tear!  . 

And  the  grocer's  eyes  are  filling  till  he  has  to  walk  apart ; 
For  that  rebate  on  tobacco  leaves  a  surplus  in  his  heart. 

Said  little  Tim,  one  morning :  "  I's  a  sorrow  to  impart, 
For  I's  turn  to  tell  you,  grocer,  that  I's  dot  a  broken 
heart ! 

"  I's  brought  back  ze  tobacco."     And  he  hung  his  curly 

head — 
"  I  dess  I'll  never  need  it,  betause  my  dranpa's  dead  ! 


"  THE  REMAINDER   OF   THE    YEAR."        35 

"  He  was   talkin'   'bout   ze    angels — '  Look  ! '   he  said, 

'  zey're  tumin'  now  ! ' 
Though  I  looked  I  touldn't  see  em  :  I  don't  know  zem 

anyhow ; 

"  But   I   dess  they   don't  like  smokin'   'tause  ze  pipe 

dropped  from  his  hand 

As  he  said,  'Dood-by';  and  somepin'  which  I  touldn't 

understan'.  , 

"  Here's  hes  pipe  and  ze  tobacco ;  please  to  put  'em  on 

ze  shelf ; 
For  when  papa's  old  and  feeble  he  might  want  to  smoke 

heself. 

"  Den  I'll  have  to  turn  an'  dit  'em — you  tan  guess  ze  rea 
son  why — 

For  I'll  teep  him  in  ze  garret  where  he  let  my  dranpa 
die!" 

"  Retribution  ! "  sighed  the  grocer,  as  Tim  toddled  out  of 

sight ; 
"  Life    is    full   of  retribution !    and   that    little   fellow's 

right ! " 


"THE  REMAINDER  OF  THE  YEAR!" 

I    REMEMBER  New  Year's   morning  hearing  dear  old 

grandma  say  : 
"  You'll  be  doing  all  the  year  just  what  you're  doing  New 

Year's  Day," 
When  my  face  lit  up  with  blushes  and  the  happiness  in 

store 
As  a  certain  handsome  fellow  tied  his  horses  at  my  door. 


36        "  THE  REMAINDER   OF    THE    YEAR:' 

For  he  took  me  out  a-sleighing  on  that  happy  New  Year 
time, 

And  my  heart  kept  beating  faster  than  the  merry  sleigh- 
bells'  chime; 

Then  he  tucked  the  furs  in  closer  'till  I  thought  I'd  have 
to  scold 

When  he,  blushing,  softly  muttered  :  "  Dear,  I  hope  you 
are  not  cold  !  " 

Then  I  said  :  "  Look  here, 
Don't  you  call  me  dear, 

Or  else  you'll  keep  on  calling  the  remainder  of  the  year !  " 

You  have  seen  the  barren  branches  fresh  baptized  with 

evening  rain, 
Decked  with  diamonds  in  the  morning  with  white  velvet 

robes  en  train  ; 
Myriad  crystals  in  the  branches,  dazzling  prisms  in  the 

snow  ; 

Just  the  day  of  all  the  season  nature  most  delights  in  show, 
And  it  seemed  this  glorious  morning,  as  we  rode  out  in 

the  sleigh, 

The  Almighty  had  robbed  heaven  in  the  making  of  the  day. 
Then  he  kissed  me  as  I  happened  to  be  gazing  at  the  sky, 
Saying :  "  Nature  wears  her  jewels  when  the  queen  is 

riding  by." 

Yes,  he  kissed  me  here, 

Till  I  had  to  interfere. 

Or  he  might  have  kept  on  kissing  the  remainder  of  the 

year. 

Have  you  never  been  so  happy  that  you  felt  your  being 

thrill, 
Longing  for  the  power  of  Joshua  to  bid  the  sun  stand 

still ; 


SHERMAN'S  MARCH.  37 

Just  to  make  the  day  eternal,  lest  before  another  dawn, 

In  the  dreamy  hours  of  slumber,  all  your  happiness  be. 
gone  ? 

Thus  we  rode  'neath  arching  branches  while  the  sleigh- 
bells'  music  rare 

Echoed  through  that  crystal  palace  God  had  builded  in 
the  air, 

When  this  Joshua  the  younger  bade  his  handsome  horses 
stay, 

While  he  asked  me  if  I'd  wed,  and  coaxed  me  not  to 
answer  nay. 

As  he  drew  me  near 

I  answered  "  Yes,"   for  fear 

The  rascal  would  keep  coaxing  the  remainder  of  the  year. 


SHERMAN'S  MARCH. 

EXCUSE  a  blind  old  soldier  if  too  eager  in  his  quest 
To  feel  the  copper  button  on  the  lapel  of  your  breast. 
I've  been  so  blind  I  haven't  seen  a  comrade  since  the 

war, 

But  know  the  grip  of  fellowship  found  in  the  G.  A.  R. 
I  know  you  are  a  hero,  though  you  tell  me  not   your 

name, 
So  I  shall  call  you  comrade,  for  the  meaning's  just  the 

same. 

I've  come  to  see  the  general — he's  here,  I  understand  ; 
Now,  comrade,  lead  me  to  him,  for  I'd  like  to  shake  his 

hand. 

I  know  it  is  an  honor, 
But  you'll  tell  him  this  for  me, 
That  I  marched  down  with  Sherman 
From  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 


38  SHERMAN'S  MARCH. 

'Twas  the  march  of  all  the  ages — Chattanooga  to  the  sea, 
Then   back    again  to    Richmond,   one  long  march   of 

victory  ! 
Three  thousand   miles  of    marching,   with   a  hundred 

thousand  men, 

And  a  thousand  banners  flying — there  was  plenty  fight 
ing  then  ; 
For  'tis    something    more    than    marching,    with    the 

elements  at  play 
And  the  swarthy  storm-king   flinging  his  battalions  in 

the  way. 
It  is  something  more  than  marching  where  every  step 

you  go 
You  are  forced  to  fight  with  Nature  and  a  still  more 

stubborn  foe. 

I  could  tell  you  all  about  it 

If  you'd  listen  unto  me, 

For  I  marched  down  with  Sherman 

From  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 

I  could  tell  you  all  about  it,  and  the  reason  why  'twas 

done  ; 
For  ofttimes  the  greatest  battle  is  with  smallest  carnage 

won ! 
Those  great  chieftains— Grant  and  Sherman,  peerless 

military  twain — 

Planned  to  settle  the  rebellion  in  a  double-fold  campaign  ; 
While  Grant  held  Lee  at  Richmond,  Sherman,  marching 

through  the  South, 
Cut    off    hope    and    all    resources   save  what's   in   the 

cannon's  mouth. 

When  your  enemy  is  helpless  it  is  just  the  same,  you  know, 
As  when  you've  thrust  a  rapier  though  the  vitals  of  a  foe. 


SHERMAN'S  MARCH.  39 

Yes,  I'm  a  blind  old  veteran, 

But  proud  as  I  can  be 

That  I  marched  down  with  Sherman 

From  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 

Lee  well  knew  those  marching  thousands  meant  his  final 

overthrow, 
And  to  yield   far  greater  conrage  than  cause  useless 

blood  to  flow. 
Had    those    concentrated     armies— veteran     blue    and 

veteran  gray- 
Sought  to  settle  the  rebellion  in  one  final,  fatal  fray, 
Fate's  red  history  of  battles  would  have  held  another  page 
With  recital  of  a  carnage  never  known  in  any  age  ; 
And  the  sunset  of  rebellion  would  have  made  the  earth 

more  red 

With  the  blood  of  many  thousands  than  the  sunset  over 
head. 

When  I  am  dead,  my  comrade, 
Tis  enough  to  say  of  me  : 
That  I  marched  down  with  Sherman 
From  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 

Some  gained  their  fame  at  Gettysburg,  when  fame  was 
nearly  lost. 

At  Fredericksburg,  Antietam,  too,  'twas  learned  what 
fame  may  cost. 

One  climbed  to  fame  on  Lookout,  fighting  far  above  the 
clouds. 

At  Mobile  Bay  one  sailed  to  fame,  lashed  to  the  flag 
ship  shrouds. 

One  rode  to  fame  at  Winchester!  At  Appomattox 
town, 

Upon  a  modest  soldier  glory  laid  a  modest  crown. 


4°  SHERMAN'S  MARCH. 

And  however  many  battles  owe  success  to  Sherman's 

name 
As  the  mighty  man  of  marches  he'll  be  always  known  to 

fame. 

What  ?  You  were  down  through  Georgia  ? 
Then  you  must  have  marched  with  me, 
When  I  marched  down  with  Sherman, 
From  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 

Let's  give  three  cheers  for  Sherman  :     Hurrah  !  hurrah  ! 

hurrah  ! 
Why  are  you  silent,  comrade  ?     Is   there  something  in 

your  craw  ? 

What !  profess  to  be  a  comrade,  and  yet  refuse  to  cheer 
The  grandest  of  all  generals  ?     What  motive  brings  you 

here  ? 

Why  come  to  these  reunions  if  you  haven't  any  soul  ? 
There's  a  home  for  crippled  soldiers  who  are  neither 

sound  nor  whole ; 
Why,  you're  more  deserving  pity,  sir,  and  pension,  too,  I 

swan, 
Than  those  poor  shattered  veterans  with  arms  and  legs 

all  gone  ! 

You  won't  cheer  Uncle  Billy  ? 
Then  you  can't  shake  hands  with  me  ! 
For  I  marched  down  with  Sherman, 
From  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 

Why,  there's  not  another  being  in  this  nation,  I  dare  say, 

Not  even  yon  Confederate — brave  enemy  in  gray — 

On  such  a  grand  occasion  would  refuse  to  cheer,  when 

bid, 
The  man  who  saved  the  Union,  or  led  the  men  who  did. 


THE   ORTHOD-OX    TEAM.  41 

Uncle  Billy  loved  the  soldiers,  for  he  had  a  heart  with 
in — 

I  heard  him  down  in  Georgia  shout  above  the  battle  din, 
We  were  rather  busy  fighting,  but  this  sentence  I  recall : 
"  You  brave  boys  who  do  the  fighting,  you're  the   heroes 
after  all ! " 

What  ?    You  are  General  Sherman  ? 
Then  you'll  have  to  cheer  for  me  ! 
For  I  marched  down  behind  you, 
From  Atlanta  to  the  sea. 


THE  ORTHOD-OX  TEAM. 

"  HOLD  on,  stranger !   Turn   out  yonder,  close  to  the 
wall ! 

For  the  road's  rather  narrow  and  I've  got  it  all ! 

Whoa,  back,  haw   there,   old   Baptist !     Whoa,  Metho 
dist,  whoa ! 

These  are  oxen  that  need  all  the  road  you  must  know, 

Yes,  I  drive   without   swearin',  though   strange  it  may 
seem, 

For  I'm  drivin',  good  stranger,  my  orthod-ox  team  !" 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 

"That  Episcopal  ox  is  of  excellent  breed, 
He's  more  noted  for  style  than  he  is  for  his  speed. 
Though  of  delicate  structure,  this  ox  will  not  shirk, 
But  he  never  was  known,  sir,  to  sweat  at  his  work. 
He's  a  good,  pious  ox,  n-ever  losin'  his  way, 
For  he  reads  all  the  signboards  and  goes  not  astray  !  " 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 


THE   ORTHOD-OX   TEAM. 


"There's  the   good   Baptist  ox:  a  breed  that's  well 

known  ; 

Close  communion  in  diet — he  eats  all  alone ! 
Shakes  his  head  when  it's  rainin'  and  closes  his  eyes ; 
He   hates  to  be   sprinkled,   though   it   come   from   the 

skies  ! 
Why,  he  won't  cross  a  bridge  unless  dragged   by  the 

team  ! 

He'll  go  nowhere,  I  swan,  but  down  into  the  stream  !  " 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 

"  Presbyterian,  gee  !     Congregational,  haw  ! 

They're  good  stock,  let  me  tell  you,  and  know  how  to 

draw  ! 

They're  so  perfectly  matched,  sir,  that  very  few  folk 
Can  tell  'em  apart  when  they're  out  of  the  yoke  ! 
But  you  see  a  slight  difference  when  it  is  shown  : 
One  leans  on  his  elders  and  one  stands  alone  !  " 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 

"  There's  an  ox  I  term  Israel,  oldest  of  all ; 
Once  he  grazed  in  the  garden  before  Adam's  fall; 
He  went  into  the  ark  at  the  time  of  the  flood, 
And  when  Pharaoh  starved  he  was  chewin'  his  cud ! 
There's  an  ancestry,  sir,  full  of  glory  no  doubt, 
But  for  goring  the  Master  they're  scattered  about !  " 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 

"  I've  an  ox  over  there  who  tends  strictly  to  'biz  ! ' 
He's  the  Catholic  ox  :  what  a  monster  he  is  ! 
And  he  keeps  growin'  big,  while  he  keeps  growin'  old  ! 
And  he  never  lets  go  where  he  once  gets  a  hold  ! 
He's  a  strong  one,  you  bet !  why,  I  never  yet  spoke 
But  he  started  right  off,  with  his  neck  in  the  yoke  !  " 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 


THE   ORTHOD-OX   TEAM.  43 

"  There's  old  Methodist,  one  of  the  best  on  the  road  ! 
You'd  suppose,  by  the  fuss,  he  alone  dragged  the  load  ! 
How  he  pulls  when  I  sing  hallelujah  and  shout ; 
But  the  worst  of  it  is,  he  keeps  changin'  about ! 
He  was  bought  on  probation,  and  works  like  a  top  ; 
But    I've   had    him   three  years  and   suppose    I   must 
swop  ! " 

Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 

"  That  suave  Universalist  many  admire 
Thinks  the  devil's  a  myth  with  his  great  prairie  fire  ! 
There's  an  Adventist,  claimin'  to  have  second  sight ; 
If  he  keeps  on  a-guessin'  he'll  guess  the  thing  right ! 
And  the  Seventh  Day  Baptist — their  numbers  are  such 
If  they  do  break  the  Sabbath  they  don't  break  it  much  !  " 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 

"  Got  a  Spiritist  ?    Yes,  sir  ;  I  bought  one  by  chance  ; 
When  it  comes  to  hard  work  he  goes  off  in  a  trance  ! 
Nothin'  practical,  sir,  in  a  medium  ox, 
When  you   have  to   keep   proddin'  with   rappin's   and 

knocks ! 

But  I  must  keep  movin'  and  ploddin'  along 
With  my  orthod-ox  team,  or  the  world  will  go  wrong !  " 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 

"  Take  the  road  that  I  came,  and  beware  of  short  cuts  ! 
You  will  not  lose  the  way  if  you  follow  the  ruts, 
I'm  sorry  to  force  you,  my  friend,  to  turn  out  ; 
But  this  is  the  regular  lumberman's  route  ! 
On  the  road  of  life,  stranger,  my  right  is  supreme  ; 
All  the  world  must  turn  out  for  my  Orthod-ox  team  ! " 
Said  the  lumberman  of  Calaveras. 


44  OLD   GLORY. 


OLD     GLORY. 

BRIGHT  mantle  of  freedom  !  what  beauty 

Shines  out  from  each  delicate  fold  ! 
Man  defends  it  from  love,  not  from  duty — 
A  love  that  makes  valor  more  bold  ; 
Rushing  on  to  his  death 
With  a  prayer  on  his  breath  ; 
And  the  soul  that  ascends  when  the  patriot  dies 
Stops  to  kiss  the  bright  folds  on  its  way  to  the  skies. 

The  baby,  forsaking  his  rattle, 

A  tiny  flag  waves  in  his  glee ; 
And  later,  with  innocent  prattle, 
He  calls  it  his  "  F'ag  of  the  fee  "  ! 
He's  as  proud  as  a  lord 
When  a  lad  with  tin  sword, 

Driving  pigs  and  the  chickens  out  under  the  bars, 
His  first  battle  is  won  with  the  Stripes  and  the  Stars. 

When  a  youth,  in  that  proud,  martial  manner, 

He  walks  with  the  men  on  parade, 
You  may  see,  in  his  love  of  the  banner, 
The  stuff  of  which  soldiers  are  made. 

From  the  forge  and  the  farm 
Comes  at  war's  first  alarm  ! 
As  a  freeman,  defending  the  flag  of  the  free, 
Can  you  find,  through  the  world,  better  soldier  than  he  ? 

When  a  man  forsakes  all  occupation 

That  he  may  do  battle,  you  know 
He  will  yield  up  his  life  for  the  nation 

Ere  he  yield  up  his  flag  to  the  foe  ! 


OLD   GLORY.  45 


With  white  face  low-lying, 

He  sees  it  still  flying  ; 

His  azure  coat  spattered  with  life's  crimson  hue  : 
Still  loyal  in  death  with  his  red,  white,  and  blue. 

Even  Benedict  Arnold,  the  traitor, 

From  the  depths  of  oblivion  prayed ; 
Beseeching  with  tears  his  Creator 
To  bless  the  dear  flag  he  betrayed. 

'Twas  the  gold  in  the  dross  ! 
As  the  thief  on  the  Cross 

In  his  last  cry  for  mercy  was  pitied  by  Heaven, 
So  Liberty  holds  her  first  traitor  forgiven. 

Those  bright  colors  that  fade  in  the  even 

Are  caught  in  the  sunset  on  high  ; 
Transferred  to  the  blue  field  of  heaven 
Those  stars  shine  all  night  in  the  sky  ! 

And  the  morning's  first  glory 
Tells  one  simple  story, 

As  it  brings  back  each  star  and  bright  color  again  : 
Day  and  night  and  forever  our  flag  shall  remain  ! 

As  soft  as  the  great  eagle's  pinion 
It  floats  on  the  much  softer  air; 
Where  none  may  dispute  its  dominion 
And  none  with  its  beauty  compare  ! 

Should  the  whole  world  assail 
It  could  never  prevail ! 

Ere  its  bright  folds  be  trampled  by  conquering  heel 
Every  blade  in  the  meadow  shall  turn  into  steel ! 

Bright  proof  of  the  patriot's  story, 

Its  legend  is  ever  the  same. 
We  may  add  many  stars  to  its  glory 

But  never  a  stripe  to  its  fame  ! 


46  NANCY  HANKS. 

Over  old  Bunker  Hill 
Are  its  folds  waving  still, 

Like  an  old  Continental  come  out  of  the  past ! 

'Twas  for  liberty  born — 'twill  for  liberty  last ! 

With  Liberty's  statue  commanding 

The  great  eastern  gate  of  the  free  ; 
And  the  Lone  Mountain  cross  ever  standing 
At  Golden  Gate,  there  by  the  sea — 
Consecrating  the  sod 
To  freedom  and  God — 
Shall  Old  Glory  its  folds  in  that  sun  ever  toss 
Which,  rising  on  Liberty,  sets  on  the  Cross. 


NANCY  HANKS. 

"  BORN  in  the  woods,  and  raised  thar  too, 
I  love  the  forest  through  and  through  ; 
I  love  to  hear  those  giants  hoary 
Tell  younger  trees  the  endless  story 
About  the  ages  long  ago, 
And  heaps  o'  things  that  I  don't  know ! 
With  all  the  leaves  a-noddin'  to  ye  ; 
And  birds  that  sing  as  if  they  knew  ye. 
This  outside  world  I  never  prized  ; 
It's  gittin'  too  much  civilized  ! 
But  I  came  down  to  see  the  pranks 
O'  this  'ere  marvel,  Nancy  Hanks  ! 
Homely  name,  aint  it  ? 

"  *  What's  in  a  name  ?  '    Wai,  I'll  be  bound, 
It's  owin'  to  how  ye  make  it  sound  ; 


NANCY  HANKS.  47 

The  meanest  name  will  sound  the  best, 
When  he  who  owns  it  does  the  rest  ; 
And  this  'ere  royal  little  mar' 
Has  made  her  name  known  everywhar' ! 
For  she's  got  speed  enough  to  win, 
No  matter  what  she  trots  agin. 
And  havin'  nothin'  else  would  chime, 
They  raced  her  'ginst  old  Father  Time  : 
This  Nancy  Hanks,  the  little  elf, 
First  beats  the  world  ;  then  beats  herself ! 
Homely  name,  aint  it  ? 

'  A  trotter  always  does  the  best 
With  some  good  runnin'  horse  abreast, 
But  Nancy  left  Abe  Lincoln,  sir, 
Who  thought  to  make  the  pace  for  her, 
Away  behind,  an'  losin'  ground, 
Just  as  a  fox  '11  leave  a  hound  ! 
But  talk  o'  sulkies,  I  declare, 
She  snaked  that  bicycle  affair, 
With  rubber  tires  an'  spindle  spokes, 
As  though  she  meant  to  show  the  folks 
That  Nancy's  beauty  and  her  speed 
Were  owin'  to  Kentucky  breed. 
Homely  name,  aint  it  ? 

'  She  sets  ten  thousand  eager  eyes 
Ablaze  with  wonder.     How  she  flies  ! 
As  swift  as  yonder  frightened  crow  ! 
Now  Doble  nods  to  let  her  go, 
An'  'fore  ye  think  the  race  begun 
She's  past  the  quarter — thirty-one  ; — 
An'  up  the  back  stretch  like  a  deer 
Fleein'  the  hardy  mountaineer. 


48  NANCY  HANKS. 

No  driver  ever  rode  so  fast ! 
Another  quarter  !     Will  it  last  ? 
The  winged  god  has  touched  her  shanks ; 
She'll  win,  she'll  win,  'tis  Nancy  Hanks  ! 
Homely  name,  aint  it  ?• 

"  Around  the  turn  she  holds  her  own ; 
The  fastest  quarter  ever  known  ! 
The  risin'  multitude  would  shout, 
But  far  the  fear  'twould  throw  her  out. 
Excitement  holds  its  breath  ;  each  heart 
Beats  quick,  as  though  it  would  impart 
Fresh  impulse  to  those  flyin'  feet, 
To  make  success  the  more  complete  ! 
Fierce  indignation  bites  the  lip — 
What,  will  he  strike  ?     He's  raised  the  whip  ? 
But  lets  the  tassel  kiss  her  flanks — 
No  hand  shall  scourge  thee,  Nancy  Hanks ! 
Homely  name,  aint  it  ? 

"  There  speeds  the  queen  of  all  her  race  ! 
She's  comin'  with  the  ease  an'  grace 
A  pigeon  has  when  flyin'  home  ! 
No  chariot  race  of  ancient  Rome 
Raised  such  a  shout !    She's  past  the  wire  ! 
She  made  old  Father  Time  perspire ! 
A  noble  horse  is  just  as  good 
As  many  of  the  human  brood ! 
An'  she  so  fired  my  heart  an'  soul 
I  hugged  her,  like  she  hugged  the  pole  ! 
Along  with  all  the  other  cranks 
I  raise  my  hat  to  Nancy  Hanks. 
Homely  name,  aint  it  ? 


NANCY  HANKS. 


"  '  Where'd  she  get  it  ? '     Back  in  the  wood, 
Long  years  ago,  a  cabin  stood ; 
No  comforts  like  you  folks  enjoy  ; 
The  mother's  treasure  was  her  boy 
Who  used  to  wonder  at  her  knee 
If  angels  were  as  sweet  as  she. 
But  death  soon  took  her  from  her  trust, 
To  taste  the  sacrament  of  dust. 
She  hoped  he'd  grow  an  honest  man, 
And  prize  a  good  name  higher  than 
A  title,  which  it  far  outranks  ! 
Kentucky  bred  was  Nancy  Hanks. 
Homely  name,  aint  it  ? 

"  With  wild-flowers  rare  he  heaped  her  bed 
'  Twould  bring  the  angels  there  ! '  he  said 
Talked  with  his  mother  way  up  there, 
A  sendin'  messages  of  prayer 
Through  God's  long-distance  telephone 
To  that  one  angel  all  his  own. 
When  snow  had  covered  deep  the  sod, 
There  happened  by  a  man  of  God, 
Of  whom  he  begged  :  '  Please  say  a  word, 
'Bout  her  good  deeds,  God  hasn't  heard  ; ' 
And  o'er  the  grave  he  sobbed  his  thanks, 
At  those  last  words  for  Nancy  Hanks. 
Homely  name,  aint  it  ? 

"  A  woman  of  ignoble  birth 
May  breed  a  fame  to  fill  the  earth  ; 
But  who  can  tell  what  cradle  keeps 
The  pillow  whereon  genius  sleeps  ? 
Above  the  manger  who  descries 
The  star  that  marks  where  glory  lies  ? 
In  that  log  cabin  who  could  see 
The  genius  of  a  century  ? 


48s 


NANCY  HANKS. 


Had  that  fond  mother  lived  to  share 
The  glory  of  a  fame  so  rare, 
Her  heart  had  burst  for  very  joy : 
Abe  Lincoln  was  her  little  boy  :  — 
Homely  name,  aint  it?  " 


CRAZY   VET.  49 


CRAZY  VET. 

JUST  stand  aside  thar',  strangah ! 
I  reckon  I'll  see  faiah  play  ! 
Fo'  I,  too,  was  a  soldier, 
Though  I  wo'e  Confederate  gray  ! 
But  I'll  not  see  a  veteran 
Abused  by  swells  like  you — 
Fo'  fou'  years'  fightin'  taught  me 
To  respect  that  coat  of  blue  ! 

Abusin'  a  wa'-wo'n  soldier, 

By  callin'  him  "  Crazy  Vet," 

Is  a  mighty  poo'  way,  I'm  thinkin', 

O'  payin'  a  nation's  debt ! 

You  say  :  "  His  head  was  injured 

By  a  bit  of  flying  shell  ?  " 

Well,  I've  a  right  smart  notion 

O'  crackin'  you'  skulls  as  well ! 

I  want  to  tell  yo'  my  story  : 
When  I  joined  "  Stonewall  Jack  " 
My  mother  and  sister  had  plenty 
To  last  'em  till  I  got  back ; 
When  up  come  "  Mosby's  guerrillas 
And  robbed  'em  of  all  they  had  ! 
But  Heaven  kept  'em  from  starvin', 
By  sendin'  a  Union  lad  ! 

The  advance  of  the  Yankee  army, 
Left  ou'  home  in  their  lines  ; 
And  that  young  colonel's  camp-fire 
Was  just  beneath  ou'  pines  ! 
He  filled  my  mother's  lardah 


50  CRAZY    VET. 


With  the  best  he  had  in  sto' ! 
And  what  with  his  fo'agin'  soldiers, 
The  house  wouldn't  hold  any  mo' ! 

When  I  came  home  this  story 
Was  told  me,  again  and  again  ; 
While  teahs  of  regret  came  often, 
To  think  I  had  fought  such  men  ! 
But  now  I'm  wo'th  my  thousands, 
And  looking  fo'  Colonel  Grace  ! 
And  aftah  months  o'  sarchin' 
I'm  told  he's  abeout  this  place  ! 

I'd  like  yo'  to  help  me  find  him  : 
Great  Scott !     What's  that  yo'  say  ? 
This  is  the  man  I'm  seekin' 
That  you've  to'mented  that  way  ? 
To  send  you  home  to  the  devil 
Would  be  treatin'  you  fa'  too  well ! 
I  would— but  that  the  "  new  version 
Explodes  the  old-fashioned  hell! 

No  !  no  !  I  begs  you'  pa'don — 
I'm  rathah  rough  in  my  way- 
God  bless  yo'  fo'  this  reunion 
Between  the  "  blue  and  the  gray  ! " 
I'll  seek  some  skillful  surgeon 
And  repair  the  ill  that's  done ; 
Then  take  him  back  to  my  mother, 
Who  calls  him  her  blue-coat  son. 

And  I  don't  mind  you'  knowin' 
I've  got  a  sister  fair — 
A  wealth  of  love  in  her  bosom, 
A  wealth  of  gold  in  her  hair — 


PRETTY  MAID   OF  SAN  JOS&.  51 

And  these  two — wal,  no  mattah  ! 
But  call  him  "  Crazy  Vet " 
And  Fit  teach  you  Yanks  a  lesson 
I  reckon  you  II  not  fo  get !  " 


PRETTY  MAID  OF  SAN  JOSE. 

SUCH  a  sweet  and  lovely  face, 
Like  an  angel  out  of  place, 

Riding  in  a  railway  car. 
Face  no  human  praise  could  flatter ; 
Couldn't  keep  from  looking  at  her  ; 
Offered  her  some  reading  matter: 

Asked  if  she  was  going  far. 

Precious  lips !     I  heard  them  say  : 
"  Want  to  stop  at  San  Jose. 

Loss  of  sleep  is  such  a  pity  ! 
If  she  took  a  little  nap 
Would  I  guard  her  from  mishap, 
Give  her  just  a  little  tap  ; 

Wake  her  at  the  Garden  City  ?  " 

Saw  her  rosy  cheek  reclining 
On  my  greatcoat's  satin  lining, 

Placed  upon  her  high-back  seat. 
Were  I  just  a  little  bolder, 
Were  that  coat  upon  my  shoulder, 
Sleep  and  I  might  both  enfold  her— 

Sentinels  of  maiden  sweet. 

Pleasant  duty — heart  was  in  it ; 
Watched  her  closely  every  minute; 
Every  minute  closer,  too  ! 


52  PRETTY  MAID   OF  SAN  JOSE. 

Would  I  watch  her  ?  would  I  wake  her  ? 
Would  I  let  conductor  shake  her  ? 
Would  I  let  the  newsboy  take  her  ? 
Gentle  stranger,  what  would  you  ? 

Train  had  never  gone  so  fast ! 
Wished  the  ride  would  always  last ! 

Was  her  slumber  very  deep  ? 
Should  I  wake  her  with  caressing — 
Do  a  kindness  by  transgressing— 
Snatching  thus  another  blessing 

From  the  precious  boon  of  sleep  ? 

No  one  there  to  interfere ! 
Dangerous  to  get  so  near 

To  a  pretty  traveler ! 
Rosy  lips,  could  not  resist  'em ! 
Little  closer,  then  I  kissed  'em  ! 
Wouldn't  for  the  world  have  missed  'em, 

When  I  found  how  sweet  they  were. 

Cupid  kept  her  eyes,  I'm  certain, 
Holding  down  each  velvet  curtain — 

He's  a  thief,  the  little  elf ! 
To  her  silken  lashes  clinging ; 
To  and  fro,  with  laughter  swinging, 
"  One  for  me,"  he  kept  on  singing, 

"  Then  another  for  yourself ! " 

With  a  laugh  each  one  he  greeted  : 
Laughed  the  more  the  more  I  cheated — 

Said  I  wasn't  playing  fair  ! 
Overkissing  indiscreet ; 
Judgment's  gone  when  sweet  lips  meet; 
Angel  kisses,  if  more  sweet, 

Make  one  sigh—they  are  so  rare. 


THE  JEALOUS    WIFE.  53 

Felt  her  breath,  for  I  presume 
One  can  feel  the  sweet  perfume 

From  the  roses  of  the  lips. 
Sleep  is  sweet  to  those  who  love  it ; 
Hers  was  sweet,  I  tasted  of  it ; 
Took  another,  just  to  prove  it — 

Couldn't  let  such  chances  slip. 

Then  she  wakened  with  a  smile 
That  would  any  heart  beguile. 

Thanked  me  in  a  pleasant  way ; 
Thanked  me  with  her  head  a-bobbing  ; 
Thanked  me  with  my  heart  a-throbbing  ; 
Thanked  the  robber  for  his  robbing — 

Pretty  maid  of  San  Jose". 

But  to  punish  me  for  stealing, 
Stole  my  heart  the  theft  revealing. 

To  arrest  us  both  that  day 
Cupid  changed  his  occupation — 
Played  the  sheriff  at  the  station. 
Sentence,  life  incarceration 

With  the  maid  of  San  Jose". 


THE  JEALOUS  WIFE. 

JOHN  loved  his  young  wife  as  the  flower  loves  the  dew  ; 

She  thought  she  could  not  live  without  him ; 
He  vowed  that  to  her  he  would  ever  be  true — 
He  vowed  as  the  rest  of  the  young  husbands  do  ; 

She  vowing  she  never  would  doubt  him. 

One  morning  John  left,  through  a  habit  pernicious, 
His  overcoat  down  in  the  hall ; 


54  THE  JEALOUS    WIFE. 

"  Ahem  !  "  quoth  the  wife,  "  the  occasion's  propitious 
To  test  John's  fidelity  ;  though  not  suspicious, 
I'll  peep  in  his  pockets,  that's  all. 

"  A  bundle  of  letters  ?  and  tied  with  a  bow  ? 

The  perfume  is  attar  of  roses ! 

Ah,  they're  from  his  mother,  who  worships  him  so ; 
Although  not  inquisitive,  I'd  like  to  know 

Just  how  she  begins,  and  how  closes. 

"  '  My  own  precious  love ! '    Just  what  I  used  to  say ! 

'  From  Helen,  your  own  until  death  ! ' 
Why,  that's  not  his  mother's  name — '  Caroline  May?  ' 
And  why  has  he  torn  off  the  envelopes,  pray  ? 

Suspicion  quite  shortens  my  breath  ! 

"  The  goose  that  I  am — 'tis  some  sweetheart  of  old  ! 

Suspicion  shall  not  blanch  my  cheek — 
How  foolish  to  ^Joubt  him — the  date  would  have  told  ; 
And  yet  they're  not  musty,  there's  no  trace  of  mould — 

Great  Heavens !    They're  dated  this  week  ! 

"  They're  burning  with  love !    Oh,  my  poor  heart  will 
break! 

While  I'm  scarcely  more  than  a  bride. 
My  John  to  prove  faithless — the  villain,  the  rake  ! 
I'll  quickly  repair  to  my  chamber  and  take 

That  last  step  in  life — suicide  ! 

"  I'd  leap  from  the  window — but  as  it's  not  dark 

I'd  look  such  a  fright  in  the  fall  ! 
I'd  die  by  his  pistol — but  when  cold  and  stark 
There'd  be  on  my  temple  a  black  powder  mark 

And  a  horrid  great  hole  from  the  ball ! 


THE  JEALOUS   WIFE.  55 

"  My  corpse  mutilated  would  spoil  the  effect, 

For  I  must  look  lovely  in  death  ! 
Cut  my  throat  with  his  razor — oh,  let  me  reflect — 
'Twould  sever  my  windpipe,  and  then,  I  expect 

I  never  could  draw  my  last  breath-! 

"  Should  I  drown  myself  down  where  the  water  is  clear, 

By  the  mill  in  the  deep,  placid  race  ? — 
The  fishes  would  eat  me  !     No,  no  !  then  I  fear 
I'll  have  to  hang  up  by  the  big  chandelier ! — 

And  then  I'll  turn  black  in  the  face. 

"  I  might  light  the  fire  with  the  kerosene  can 

And  go  where  all  treachery  ceases  ; 
I'd  do  it  with  dynamite  were  I  a  man — 
No,  no  !  I'll  die  easy  by  some  other  plan, 

And  not  leave  my  corpse  all  in  pieces. 

"  I'll  ask  the  French  druggist,  just  over  the  way, 

For  something  to  poison  the  cat. 
The  gripings  and  spasms  are  dreadful,  they  say, 
And  poison  I'll  take  without  any  delay, 

Though  it  do  puff  me  up  like  a  rat. 

"  Oh,  tell  me,  thou  prince  of  all  druggists  and  leechers, 

What  poison  you  keep  in  this  place 
For  rats,  those  unhappy — I  mean  pesky  creatures, 
To  let  them  die  easy,  not  puff  up  their  features, 

Nor  make  them  turn  black  in  the  face  ?  " 

"  Ah,  madam,  I  geeve  you  ze  grandest  powdaire 

Zat  make  ze  rat  sweetaire  ven  deat ; 
Zo  mooch  you  feel  sorry  you  keel  him,  by  gaire! 
Ze  rat  die  so  zgently,  you  see  him  you  svear 

He  vas  only  asleep  in  ze  bet ! 


56  THE  JEALOUS    WIFE. 

"  Vaire  small,  leetal  pinch  eez  a  dose  ;  vat  you  geef 

Depend  on  ze  size  of  ze  rat. 
Ze  rat,  ven  he  leetal,  eez  vaire  sen-sa-tief ; 
Von  bieg  rat,  deesconsolate,  no  vish  to  lief, 

Zjust  gief  him  a  teaspoon  of  zat." 

At  home  in  her  chamber  the  poison  she  took, 

And  rolling  in  agony  lay, 

When  John,  coming  back  for  that  coat  on  the  hook, 
Fast  mounted  the  stairs,  with  an  agonized  look 

Where  his  wife  groaned  in  sweet  disarray. 

"  Why,   Mame,  what's  the  matter  ?  "    "  O  John  !  pray 

explain 

These  letters  I  found  in  your  coat  ?  " 
"  That  coat  was  my  partner's,  worn  home  in  the  rain  !  " 
"Not  yours?     Quick!   I'm   poisoned!   'tis   racking   my 

brain ! 
To  the  druggist — get  some  antidote !  " 

To  the  druggist  he  rushed — "Sir,  you've  poisoned  my 
Mame." 

Said  the  Frenchman  :— "  Keep  on  ze  apparel ! 
She  vant  ze  rat  poison — but  I  know  ze  game — 
Vat  don't  black  ze  face  of  ze  rat  ?    Ven  she  came 
Ze  powdaire  of  sugaire  I  gave !    All  ze  same 

She  will  lief  eef  she  eat  ze  whole  barrel ! " 


"BIRDS  OF  A   FEATHER."  57 


"BIRDS  OF  A   FEATHER." 

UNDERNEATH  the  shady  willow 
Resting  on  a  grassy  pillow, 

Slept  a  maiden  fair. 
Overhead  a  sparrow  swinging, 
On  the  graceful  branches  clinging, 
To  the  maiden  pertly  singing, 

"  Sweet  one,  have  a  care !  " 

Sang  the  goldfinch  to  the  maiden, 
Every  note  with  love  words  laden, 

"  Let  the  beauty  sleep  ! 
Though  her  eyes  are  under  cover 
She  can  see  her  precious  lover  ; 
Dreams  he's  near  and  thinking  of  her 

See  the  blushes  creep  !  " 

Spoke  the  little  chickadee : 
"  I'll  pretend  that  I  am  he. 

Down  to  her  I'll  fly  ! 
Give  her  pretty  nose  a  tweak, 
Rub  my  wing  against  her  cheek, 
Softly,  like  a  mustache  sleek  ; 

That  will  ope  her  eye." 

"  Pretty  creature !  "  said  the  robin. 
"  I  will  set  her  heart  a-throbbin', 

I  am  used  to  this. 
Lips  as  rosy  as  a  berry, 
I  know  how  to  pick  a  cherry, 
Make  her  think  it  is  her  Jerry 

Come  to  steal  a  kiss." 


58  "BIRDS  OF  A  FEATHER:' 

Said  the  catbird,  "  I  object ! 
Pretty  maidens  I  protect  ! 

Kiss  her?     No,  you  shan't ! 
Make  a  scene  right  here  before  us  ? 
Folks  '11  wonder  what's  come  o'er  us  : 
\     Better  wake  her  with  a  chorus  ; 
Let's  all  join  a  chant !  " 

» 

"  Such  a  clamor  is  a  pity  ! 

Let  me  sing  a  tender  ditty," 

Said  the  little  wren. 

"  Sing  her  something  soft  and  pleasing ; 
After  that  a  little  teasing, 
Give  her  hand  a  little  squeezing, 

Like  the  naughty  men  ! 

"  Here's  the  golden-throated  lark  ! 
Coming,  with  a  message.     Hark  ! 

What  a  heavenly  tune  :  " 
"  Through  the  buttercups  so  yellow 
I  have  seen  this  handsome  fellow 
Coming  with  his  heart  right  mellow  ; 

Now  we'll  watch  'em  spoon  !  " 

Sang  the  redbird,  "  What  a  treat ! 
I  must  pick  me  out  a  seat ; 

Too-ri-loo-ri-loo  ! 

I  can  watch  'em  through  the  leaves. 
Strange  a  maiden  never  grieves 
At  the  many  she  receives, 

When  one  kiss  should  do  ! " 

Sang  the  little  queen  canary  : 
"There's  no  need  to  be  contrary ; 
Lips  were  made  to  eat ! 


THE  PASTOR'S    WOOING.  59 

Words  were  never  made  to  utter 
When  the  heart  is  in  a  flutter, 
That's  why  lovers  always  stutter — 

'  Love  is  v-v-very  sw-sw-svveet ! ' ' 

All  began  to  smile  and  wink ; 
"  Stop  it  !  "  cried  the  bobolink, 

"  Pass  around  a  few  ! 
All  is  true  that  we  have  heard  ; 
Man  makes  love  just  like  a  bird ; 
Takes  a  kiss  at  every  word, 

Sometimes  taking  two." 


THE  PASTOR'S  WOOING. 

THEY  considered  the  pastor  a  trifle  too  young 
For  the  staid  congregation  he'd  settled  among ; 
Yet  the  deacon  admitted  he  never  had  heard 
Such  a  natural  reading  of  Holy  Word  : — 
'Twas  the  voice  of  the  soul  with  the  tone  of  a  bell ; 

And  the  verdict  so  just 

Was  taken  in  trust 
By  the  good  deacon's  beautiful  daughter,  Nell. 

The  handsome  young  pastor  was  modest,  devout ; 
Always  treading  the  path  which  he  pointed  them  out 
But  the  best  of  his  sermons,  by  common  accord, 
Was  an  able  discourse  on  the  love  of  the  Lord ; 
And  he  treated  the  subject  remarkably  well- 
But  his  thoughts  often  ran 
On  the  love  of  a  man — 
On  the  love  of  a  clergyman  young,  for  Nell 


60  THE  PASTORS   WOOING. 

His  sermons  grew  tender  and  so  did  his  heart ; 
Shooting  arrows  of  truth,  yet  receiving  the  dart 
From  the  soft  eyes  of  Nell,  with  their  aim  doublefold  ; 
Thus  love  made  him  timid  where  faith  made  him  bold ; 
And  the  secret  remained  which  he  never  dared  tell ; 

He  could  preach  well,  and  pray, 

If  his  heart  would  but  stay 
In  the  pulpit,  and  not  in  the  pew  there  with  Nell. 

His  preaching  became  such  a  labor  of  love, 

With  its  constant  communion  below  and  above  ; 

While  he  sat  in  the  pulpit,  ere  service  begun, 

With  his  head  on  his  hand  as  is  commonly  done, 

If  he  peeped  through  his  fingers,  why  no  one  could  tell ; 

Though  he  knew  it  was  human 

To  gaze  on  fair  woman, 
He  deemed  it  not  wicked  to  gaze  upon  Nell. 

For  the  youth  of  his  flock  he  was  fervent  in  prayer ; 
But  one  morning  in  church  certain  gossips  declare — 
By  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  by  an  error  of  speech, 
Though  the  pastor  undoubtedly  meant  to  beseech 
The  good  Lord  to  keep  all  the  young  men  from— well- 
That  eternal  shade, 
He  certainly  prayed 
The  good  Lord  to  keep  all  the  young  men  from  Nell. 

To  consult  him  on  matters  of  Church  and  of  State, 
As  we  term  a  church  fair  and  no  truth  violate, 
Nell  had  called  at  the  study— the  door  stood  ajar, 
The  pastor  was  kneeling,  as  often  they  are  ; 
She  could  not  retreat  without  breaking  the  spell ; 

With  her  eyes  on  the  floor, 

Waiting  there  at  the  door, 
Like  a  vision  of  love  stood  the  beautiful  Nell. 


THE  PASTORS   WOOING.  6 1 

He  was  praying  for  all,  but  as  one  might  infer, 
Grew  most  eloquent  when  he  was  pleading  for  her ! 
Why  he  singled  her  out  she  could  not  understand, 
Till  she  heard  him  ask  God  for  her  heart  and  her  hand. 
No  petition  ere  suited  a  maiden  so  well — 

It  is  piety  rare 

When  Cupid's  at  prayer — 
For  he  told  to  his  God  what  he  should  have  told  Nell. 

As  angels  appeared  to  the  sainted  of  yore, 
She  knelt  by  his  side  on  the  carpeted  floor ; 
Put  her  soft  hand  in  his  as  a  silent  "  Amen  ! " 
He  soon  found  the  vision  was  mortal — and  then 
He,  blushing,  caressed  her,  nor  could  she  rebel, 

For  was  she  not  there 

In  answer  to  prayer  ? 
Thus  God  joined  together  the  pastor  and  Nell. 

It  was  heaven  to  him  gazing  into  her  eyes, 
It  was  heaven  to  him  with  the  blue  of  the  skies; 
In  the  thought  of  an  angel  becoming  his  bride, 
He  forgot  all  the  angels  but  her  at  his  side  ; 
And  love's  sweet  forgetfulness  over  them  fell 

Till  she  said  :  "  I  declare, 

We  forget  the  Church  Fair !  " 
He  replied  :  "  I'm  now  holding  the  fair—holding  Nell ! " 


62  FOREIGNERS  AT   THE  FAIR. 


FOREIGNERS  AT  THE  FAIR. 

SAID  the  Englishman  :  "  Wat's  all  this  bloomin'  wow  ? 

An  w'ere  is  Chicago,  anyhow  ? 

I've  'card  abeout  yo'r  Columbian  show ; 

An'  abeout  yo'r  Columbus,  don'  cher  know ! 

The  Prince  infawmed  me  that  'e  was  the  cove 

Who  discovahd  yo'r  blawsted  ceountry,  bah  Jove  ! 

An'  cwossed  the  wahtaw,  His  'Ighness  tells, 

In  three  little  chocolate  caramels!  " 

Then  Italy  spoke  :  "  Greata  beega  show ! 
I  sella  da  banan',  catch  da  mon'  to  go ! 
I  tella  da  peopl'  I  wasa  descend 
From  Colombo ;  dey  scratcha  da  nose  on  da  end  ! 
Man  Christof  Colomb'  was  a  greata  man  : 
He  discova  da  world  for  d'  American. 
But  they  draga  to  preeson,  chain  lika  da  dog, 
When  Is'bella  find  out  he  discova  Chicag' !  " 

"  Hoot,  lad  !     I'm  fra  Scootlan',  but  canna  find  oot, 
Fra  yer  garlicky  tongue  what  ye're  ta'kin'  aboot ! 
Ef  ye  canna  spak  English,  an'  spak  withoot  flaw, 
As  I  do  mysel',  dinna  spak  it  at  a' ! 
Ye'll  not  mak'  musicians  by  turnin'  a  crank ; 
Till  ye  learn  on  the  bagpipe  ye'll  niver  take  rank. 
To  discoover  the  counthree,  Columbus  did  well, 
But  ye're  sp'ilin'  it  a',  comin'  over  yersel' ! " 

"  Wai,  I'm  from  the  wild  an'  the  woolly  West ; 
An'  thar's  jist  one  thing  I  wanter  suggest : 
That  yo'  call  this  y'ar  the  Chicago  Fair, 
An'  not  the  Corlumbian  !     Neow  take  care ! 
Fur  this  is  the  biggest  city  on  earth, 
Ef  yo'  take  it  in  height,  er  take  it  in  girth  ; 


FOREIGNERS  AT   THE  FAIR.  63 

We're  growin'  so  fast  we've  got  ter  make 
A  petition  that  Providence  move  the  lake." 

"  You  vas  beat  the  veorld ! "  said  the  traveling  Jew ; 

"  You  vas  on  der  beat — I  vas  onto  you  ! 

It  vas  called  der  '  Vindy  Cidy,'  I  know, 

Because  der  beoble  vas  on  der  blow. 

Der  greatest  cidy  for  hogs  un'  porok ! 

Dat's  vy  der  Hebrew  remains  in  Ny-Yorok. 

I  discover  dis  fact  ven  I  pays  my  bill — 

You  vas  keep  some  hogs  vich  you  neffer  kill ! " 

"  It's  wuth  a  heap,  stranger,  'twixt  me  an'  yeou, 

A-gittin'  the  best  of  a  New  York  Jew ! 

We've  got  the  push,  an'  we've  got  the  go ; 

An'  we're  showin'  New  York  how  a  city  should  grow. 

We  taught  them  dude  Knickerbockers  a  trick 

By  gittin'  the  Fair,  an'  a-gittin'  'er  slick  ; 

An'  a-bringin'  'er  up  to  the  present  stage — 

'Twas  the  greatest  feat  of  the  modern  age ! " 

Said  Patrick :  "  I've  heard  all  about  yer  big  feet ! 
But  Oi'll  not  mintion  that  ef  ye'll  promise  to  treat ! 
They  charged  me  fur  wather  out  here  at  the  Fair  ; 
Oi've  been  howldin'  me  breath  lest  they  charge  me  fur  air. 
But  why  they  should  wish  to  be  fillin'  the  land 
Wid  those  half-grown  Oitalians,  I  can't  understhand  ; 
They  discovered  the  counthry  at  others'  expinse ; 
But  they  niver  discovered  a  single  thing  since." 

"  You'll  excuse  me,  Gunnel,  ef  I  use  my  mouf, 
I'se  a  cullud  gemman  fum  away  down  Souf. 
I  was  nuffin'  but  a  niggah  befo'  de  wah ; 
But  now  I  rides  in  de  palace  caw ! 


64  THE  MIRACLE   OF  CAN  A. 

Who  say  Marse  C'lumbus  done  'scovah  dees  earf  ? 
Don'  yo'  know  dey  was  Injuns  heah  on  de  turf, 
A-raisin'  terbac'  an'  de  Injun  cawn, 
Befo'  Marse  C'lumbus  he  gwine  to  be  bawn." 

"  I'm  ze  French  gentlemen' !     I  come  ovair  to  see 

Ze  Fair,  an'  ze  statue  of  French  Libairtee : 

I  ask  ze  bronze  Lady,  weez  smile  debonair, 

Vich  enlighten  ze  voorld  an'  ze  way  to  ze  Fair, 

How  she  like  ze  great  peopal?     Vair  well,  but,  my  face, 

Turn  black  Ven  I  try  me  to  speak  ze  Englais ! 

Mon  Dieu  !  what  a  countree  zes  would  have  become 

Ef  discovair  by  Frenchman  instead  of  Colomb' ! " 

"  Me  heap  sabe  you  !    You  heap  sabe  me, 

Me  Melican-citizen-heathen-Chinee : 

Me  heap  sabe  C'lumbus  ;  him  velley  smart  man — 

No  sabe  lay  egg — heap  sabe  makee  stan'. 

Heap  sabe  George  Washman  ;  him  velley  lenoun'; 

No  likee  climb  chelly  tlee,  heap  cut  'em  down. 

Me  alle  same  '  Washman,'  him  '  Georgee,'  me  '  John,' 

Him  tellee  no  lie,  gottee  pigtail  on." 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  CANA. 

THE  waterpots  were  filled  at  God's  behest ; 
Yet  in  the  marriage  wine  no  grape  was  pressed  ! 
No  tired  feet  the  weary  wine  press  trod 
To  make  this  sacred  vintage  of  our  God ! 
As  nature  doth  proclaim  a  power  divine, 
Each  drop  of  moisture  turned  itself  to  wine. 

In  spite  of  arguments  in  Jesus  met, 

The  world  is  full  of  doubting  skeptics  yet ; 


THE  MIRACLE   OF  CANA.  65 

Believing  naught  in  heaven  or  earth  divine, 
They  doubt  this  miracle  of  Palestine  ; 
They  find  the  Holy  Bible  filled  with  flaws, 
And  pin  their  doubting  faith  to  Nature's  laws. 

Ye  scoffers  of  our  sacred  Lord,  pray  tell 
Who  tinted  first  the  water  in  the  well? 
Who  painted  atmospheric  moisture  blue  ? 
And  gave  the  ocean  waves  their  constant  hue? 
Whose  moisture  raised  in  clouds  all  colors  lack ; 
The  fleecy  ones  so  white,  the  storm  king  black, 
Save  where  the  evening  sun's  bright  rays  incline 
To  turn  this  fleecy  moisture  into  wine, 
And  lay  a  benediction  on  them  all 
Like  purple  grapes  hung  on  a  golden  wall? 
'Twas  thus  our  Lord  a  sacred  radiance  shed, 
Slow  turning  Cana's  water  vintage  red. 

If  lilies  at  His  bidding  from  the  soil 
Spring  up,  that  neither  know  to  spin  nor  toil ; 
In  beauty  yet  more  gorgeously  arrayed 
Than  he  of  old  who  that  great  temple  made, 
Then  why  may  not  the  gentle  evening's  dew, 
At  God's  command  take  on  a  ruddy  hue? 

This  whirling,  surging  world  was  made  by  One 
Who  might  have  made  the  wine  as  rivers  run ; 
Yet  put  a  sweeter  nectar  in  the  rills, 
Fresh  rippling  from  the  vintage  of  the  hills. 

Watch  Nature's  miracle  when  day  is  dead, 
And  blushing  Helios,  his  good-night  said, 
Slow  dipping  his  hot  face  in  cooling  brine, 
Turns  all  the  ocean  billows  into  wine. 


66  THE  MILLER'S  MAID. 

The  sun  and  rain  stretch  o'er  the  earth  a  bow, 
With  tints  more  beautiful  than  wine  can  show ; 
A  frescoed  arch  in  gorgeous  colors  seven — 
A  bridge  where  weak  belief  may  walk  to  heaven. 

Sometimes,  athwart  a  sunset  on  the  plain, 
A  passing  storm  cloud  drops  its  ruby  rain, 
Because  a  God,  whose  face  is  hid  from  view, 
Lets  just  a  little  glory  filter  through 
This  great  libation  poured  at  Nature's  shrine 
To  fill  Sol's  golden  cup  with  evening  wine. 

Since  Nature  doth  such  miracles  perform 
Why  may  not  He  who  makes  and  rules  the  storm, 
Of  all  His  miracles  the  first  and  least, 
Tint  a  few  drops  for  Cana's  wedding  feast  ? 

The  greatest  marriage  at  the  end  shall  be 

When  Time  is  wedded  to  Eternity  ! 

All  bidden  are,  the  greatest  and  the  least, 

To  taste  the  wine  at  heaven's  great  wedding  feast ! 

Where  all  the  ransomed  universe  shall  sing, 

Hosanna !  to  the  everlasting  King  ! 


THE   MILLER'S   MAID. 

NATURE,  ever  fickle  jade, 
Squandered  treasure  on  the  Maid 

Of  the  Mill ; 

Gave  her  eyes  of  such  rare  blue 
That  her  soul  kept  peeping  through, 

"  Will-he-nill" 

On  his  handsome  chestnut-brown 
Sat  the  heir  of  half  the  town, 


THE  MILLER'S  MAID.  67 

Reining  in  his  horse  enchanted  with  the  vision  on  the 

hill; 

Fresh  from  college  halls  was  he  ; 
Fell  in  love  ?— Well,  let  me  see- 
But  the  story's  told  much  sweeter  by  the  Maiden  of  the 
Mill! 

"  But  he  knew  not  what  to  say, 
So  he  asked  of  me  the  way 

To  the  mill ; 

It  was  just  to  make  me  speak, 
For  it  stood  there  by  the  creek 

'Neath  the  hill ! 
It  is  difficult  to  frown 
On  such  loving  eyes  and  brown, 
So  I  raised  my  arm  and  pointed  just  a  moment  down  the 

hill; 

All  he  did  was  stand  and  stare 
At  my  plump  arms  white  and  bare, 

Till  I  had  to  doubt  this  handsome  fellow's  business  at 
the  mill ! 

" '  Since  you  have  no  grist  to  grind 

Why  so  anxious,  sir,  to  find 
Father's  mill  ? 

But  the  mill  you'll  never  see 

While  you  stand  and  gaze  at  me — 
Think  you  will  ?  ' 

Then  I  thought  I  heard  him  say, 

As  he  threw  a  kiss  this  way  : 
'  I  think  I  see  the  building  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill ! ' 

But  I  threw  his  kisses  back 

While  I  bade  him  get  a  sack 
And  take  his  many  kisses  to  be  ground  up  at  the  mill ! 


68  THE   CALIFORNIA    FLEA. 

"  Now  he  brings  a  grist  each  day 
Which  he  never  takes  away 

From  the  mill. 
When  I  ask  the  reason  why 
He  will  smile  and  make  reply  : 

'  When  you  will ! ' 
It  is  plain  as  plain  can  be 
By  his  grist  he's  meaning  me, 
For  my  heart  is  ground  up  finer  than  the  corn  within  the 

mill; 

And  he  says,  his  gold  he'll  share 
For  the  gold  that's  in  my  hair  ! 

Will  I  wed  him  ?     Well,  I'm  human,  and  I  rather  think 
I  will !  " 


THE  CALIFORNIA  FLEA. 

The  California  flea  may  be  termed  the  insect  clown  or  merry-maker,  for, 
although  the  cause  of  universal  annoyance,  he  is  the  source  of  more  amuse 
ment  and  laughter  than  all  other  insects  together.  Let  one  of  a  company 
of  friends  be  annoyed  by  a  flea  and  the  fact  is  immediately  discovered  by 
the  others  from  the  restless  twisting,  turning,  and  wriggling  ;  whereupon 
the  laugh  begins.  Even  in  church,  if  you  shrug  a  shoulder  or  catch  your 
sleeve  as  if  to  turn  something  over,  everyone  knows  you  are  troubled  by  a 
flea.  This  mischievous  little  pest  is  omnipresent,  and  never  quiet  except 
when  overfed,  or  when  its  feet  and  legs  get  tangled  in  a  woolen  garment  or 
blanket.  The  flea  is  caught  between  the  thumb  and  forefinger,  which 
have  been  previously  moistened  to  enable  one  to  hold  him,  for  unless  the 
greatest  care  is  taken  he  will  jump  away. 

By  ll  Forty-niners  "  is  meant  those  early  pioneers  who  went  to  California 
in  the  gold  excitement  in  1849. 

A  TINY  jumping  apple  seed, 
That  doth  on  saint  and  sinner  feed 
With  equal  relish,  equal  greed, 

Born  of  assurance  ; 
An  appetite  beyond  his  need 

And  our  endurance. 


THE   CALIFORNIA   FLEA.  69 

When  Eve  the  famous  apple  ate, 
The  seeds  began  to  propagate ; 
And  like  a  dire  avenging  fate, 

With  instinct  human, 
Have,  since  that  very  ancient  date, 

Been  eating  woman. 

This  pretty  little  parasite 
Will  keep  a  body  in  a  plight : 
At  first  he'll  tickle,  then  he'll  bite, 

While  each  relation 
Hops  round  as  though  his  sole  delight 

Was  recreation. 

The  precious  maiden,  sweet  and  fair, 
Will  twist  and  wriggle  in  her  chair, 
Regardless  of  the  presence  there 

Of  friend  or  lover : 
She  grabs  the  flea,  ere  he's  aware, 

And  turns  him  over. 

It's  little  matter  where  you  are, 
That  hungry  flea  is  always  "  thar." 
E'en  while  you  ride  the  cable  car 

He  keeps  on  walking ; 
He's  bound  to  travel  just  as  far 

Beneath  your  stocking ; 

A  misery  that  rarely  shows, 

For  you're  the  only  one  that  knows ; 

It  being  just  beneath  your  clothes, 

You  cannot  catch  it ; 
The  bite's  the  least  of  all  your  woes— 

You  dare  not  scratch  it. 


70  THE    CALIFORNIA   FLEA. 

While  sitting  quietly  in  church 
They  creep  about  you  in  the  search 
Of  ticklish  point  on  which  to  perch 

And  then  slide  back, 
As  frisky  boys  with  sudden  lurch 

Slide  down  a  stack. 

The  pious  deacon  bows  his  chin, 
Repeating  Adam's  primal  sin  ; 
But  ere  he  fairly  can  begin 

His  day's  devotion, 
This  little  devil  bites  his  skin 

To  change  his  notion. 

In  church  the  righteous  flea  is  given 
To  fasting  six  days  out  of  seven  ; 
The  play-house  flea,  fed  every  even, 

Is  not  so  needy — 
Thus  man  against  his  will  is  driven 

Where  they're  less  greedy. 

A  woman  is  the  most  abused  ; 

Just  when  you  think  she's  most  amused, 

She'll  sweetly  beg  to  be  excused. 

And  quick  retire 
To  some  apartment  then  unused, 

For  vengeance  dire. 

Although  you're  very  entertaining, 
Don't  censure  her  for  not  remaining  ; 
Some  miseries  are  past  explaining ; 

Wait  patiently, 
She'll  come,  her  wonted  smile  regaining, 

Minus  a  flea. 


THE    CALIFORNIA    FLEA.  71 

No  living  thing  can  jump  as  high  ; 
Far  quicker  than  a  woman's  eye  ; 
He's  bound  to  prove  an  alibi, 

And  never  lingers 
To  let  man  catch  him,  though  he  try 

With  moistened  fingers. 

You'll  never  catch  him  in  the  bed, 
Unless,  perchance,  he's  overfed, 
Or  tangled  in  the  woolen  spread. 

Mind  how  you  trust  him  ; 
Pinch  how  you  will  he's  never  dead 

Until  you  "  bust "  him. 

Our  native  flea  no  better  thrives 
Than  when  the  "  tenderfoot "  arrives  ; 
At  first  the  stranger  thinks  it's  hives, 

Then  grows  dejected, 
Blaming  those  bugs  that  spend  their  lives 

In  beds  neglected. 

Next  day  he's  forced  to  change  his  mind, 
Yet  dares  not  look  for  fear  he'll  find 
An  insect  of  a  meaner  kind, 

That's  ever  toiling 
Some  lazy  soldier  to  remind 

His  shirt  needs  boiling. 

These  strangers  say  the  strangest  things  : 
"  Why,  your  mosquito  has  no  wings  ! 
All  through  the  night  he  bites  and  stings 

Till  early  morning, 
Yet  out  of  meanness  never  sings 

To  give  us  warning !  " 


72  THE   CALIFORNIA    FLEA. 

At  first  all  strangers  blush  with  shame 
Until  they  find  this  doubtful  game 
Infesting  all  mankind  the  same — 

Black  or  Circassian. 
How  soon  small  vices  lose  their  name 

When  they're  in  fashion  ! 

As  yon  p6liceman  he  will  stray 
Around  your  suburbs  night  and  day, 
Stopping  betimes  where'er  he  may 

To  take  a  "  nip," 
But  when  you  want  him  he's  away — 

You've  got  the  slip. 

Our  lawyers  strange  emotions  trace 
Upon  the  Judge's  mobile  face, 
Believing  they  have  won  their  case 

In  "  Common  Pleas," 
To  find  'twas  owing  to  a  brace 

Of  common  fleas. 

Our  Seal  of  State  :     A  maiden  fair, 
Enthroned  beside  a  grizzly  bear, 
"  Eureka  "  blazoned  on  the  air, 

With  stars  around  it, 
Which  means,  as  people  are  aware, 

The  flea,  "  I've  found  it." 

The  "  Forty-niner  "  stroked  his  breast- 
"  Contented  here  my  soul  shall  rest 
If  this  uneasy  little  pest, 

This  '  pioneer,' 

And  '  Native  Son  of  the  Golden  West,' 
Don't  interfere  !  " 


THE    FUNERAL   OF   THE  MOUNTAINS.        73 

E'en  now,  as  certain  symptoms  show, — 

A  restless  moving  to  and  fro, — 

There's  something  troubling  you,  I  know. 

You've  got  a  flea. 
If  you'll  excuse  me,  friends,  I'll  go — 

There's  one  on  me. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS. 

MOURN,  Great  McGregor,  mourn  !    Thou  youngest  of 

The  mountains  newly  born,  bow  4own  thy  head 

And  weep  into  the  valley  rivulets 

Of  tears.     Draw  'round  thee  close  thy  somber,  dark, 

And  heavy  robe  of  pines.     It  is  thy  cloak 

Of  mourning  and  thy  crape  ;  thou  hast  most  need 

To  mourn,  being  most  blessed.     But  yesterday 

Thou  wert  unknown  and  insignificant  ; 

To-day  thou  art  immortal  made  because 

Thou  art  the  death-bed  of  our  loved  Grant— 

Because  the  Nation's  hero  made  of  thee 

A  stepping-stone  to  heaven. 

Thou  art  become 

The  country's  shrine,  where  weeping  Liberty 
Hath  come  to  shed  her  tears.     Around  thy  base 
Is  marshaled  that  innumerable  host 
Of  soldiers  slain  in  Freedom's  cause,  and  with 
Them  is  the  silent  throng  in  gray — with  heads 
Uncovered  all,  beneath  one  flag  that  droops 
Fresh  wet  with  heaven's  tears,  the  dew.     Those  coats 
Which  once  were  blue  have  faded  into  gray  ; 
Grave-ashes  give  one  color  to  them  all. 
Their  guns  all  stacked,  within  the  silent  wood 


74        THE  FUNERAL   OF   THE  MOUNTAINS. 

They  stretch  their  phantom  tents  in  bivouac  weird — 
A  specter  guard — Grand  Army  of  the  dead  ! 
Thy  cooling  breeze  hath  kissed  his  fevered  cheek 
These  long,  long  waiting  hours  so  gratefully ; 
Thy  sentry  pines  swayed  with  the  fleeting  pulse 
And  whispered  undisturbingly  :  "  All's  Well  !  " 
When  all  was  o'er,  their  wailing  message  went 
Along  the  clouds,  that  fleecy  telephone, 
To  Lookout  Mount,  whose  rusty  cannons'  boom 
Seemed  like  the  toiling  clock  of  destiny 
Slow  striking  Sixty-three. 

For  such  an  one 

No  common  sepulture !    Be  thou  his  bier, 
His  catafalque  !     Let  battle-mountains  make 
His  fun'ral  train  !     Call  Lookout  from  the  clouds, 
With  Mission  Ridge,  Ball's  Bluff  and  Malvern  Hill, 
South  Mountain,  Champion  Hill,  Great  Cumberland, 
Pea  Ridge,  and  those  that  shut  in  Gettysburg  ; 
With  Rural  Hill  and  Drury's  Bluff,  the  heights 
Of  Maryland  and  Harper's  Ferry  walls, 
With  those  that  frown  on  Shenandoah's  plain  ; 
Each  hill  where  war  hath  plowed  great  furrows  up — 
Each  slope  with  human  abatis  of  slain — 
Each  mound  where  fiery  battle-steeds  have  pranced, 
Impatient  of  the  smoke.     E'en  that  small  knoll 
At  Appomattox,  where  Rebellion  gave 
Its  saber  up  and  Slavery  made  her  tomb : 
Let  heaven,  muffling  up  her  thunder  drum, 
Sound  reveille,  to  summon  all  to  this 
Great  funeral.     In  military  line, 
Procession  make  with  solemn  obsequies  ; 
While  ocean  waves  on  either  shore,  in  great 
Sabaoth,  Triste  Vale  chant. 


JENNIE,  75 


With  pick 

And  spade  think  not  to  make  thy  hero's  bed  ! 
In  Donelson's  firm  walls  impregnable 
His  mausoleum  make — fit  catacomb — 
And  soldier-like,  wrapped  in  his  country's  flag, 
There  let  him  hold  the  fort  for  evermore. 

Take  shattered  cannon  from  the  battle-field, 
Well  moulten  in  hot  Sumter's  crucible, 
And  cast  a  monument  o'er-topping  that 
Of  Liberty  enlightening  the  world  ; 
And  on  its  base  inscribe  with  saber  point — 
"  Our  hero  dead,  who  never  battle  lost, 
To  heaven  surrendered  unconditional" 


JENNIE. 

"  THE  sweetest  lass  in  all  the  land 

Is  Jennie,  Jennie,  Jennie  !  " 
Said  Robin  as  he  held  each  hand, 

Too  many,  many,  many  ! 
'Twas  in  the  lane,  the  fence  was  high  ; 
There  was  no  room  to  pass  him  by ; 
He  held  my  wings,  I  could  not  fly  ; 

Not  any,  any,  any. 

"  How  many  sweethearts  have  you,  pray, 

Sweet  Jennie,  Jennie,  Jennie  ?  " 
The  rogue  within  me  bade  me  say — 

"  Not  many,  many,  many  !  " 
But  when  I  found  it  grieved  the  youth, 
I  could  no  longer  hide  the  truth, 
And  said,  not  many  was,  forsooth, 
Not  any,  any,  any  ! 


76  SHALL  BESS  COME  HA  ME? 

He  said  :  "  And  would  one  sweetheart  be 

Too  many,  many,  many  ? 
Could  you  accept  of  one  like  me, 

My  Jennie,  Jennie,  Jennie?  " 
Let  others  think  whate'er  they  may, 
When  Robin  took  my  heart  away 
I  had  no  heart  to  tell  him  nay, 

Not  any,  any,  any  ! 

Although  I  never  said  he  could 

Take  any,  any,  any, 
He  did  just  what  I  thought  he  would — 

Kiss  Jennie,  Jennie,  Jennie  ! 
My  lips  were  closed,  I  could  not  add, 
Nor  count  the  kisses  of  the  lad, 
And  yet  I  hardly  think  he  had 

Too  many,  many,  many  ! 


SHALL   BESS   COME   HAME  ? 

"  PRAY  tell  me  where  ye've  been  sae  lang,  guid  Nan 
Hae  ye  been  aff  to  town  withoot  yer  man  ?  " 

"  Ah,  John,  and  can  ye  ask  where  I  hae  been— 
Where  should  a  mither  go  but  to  her  km  ?  " 

"  What,  to  the  bairn  that's  gi'en  o'er  to  ill- 
How  could  ye  bear  to  gang  against  my  will  ?  " 

"  By  life-lang  watch-care  doth  a  mither  earn 
The  right,  nae  matter  where,  to  seek  her  bairn  ! " 

"  That's  true,  guid  Nan,  I  lay  nae  fau't  agin  ye, 
Except  the  ower-lovin'  heart  that's  in  ye  ; 


SHALL  BESS  COME  HA  ME?  77 

"  That  takes  ye  oot  o'  doors  to  succor  sin ; 
Wi'  De'il  ootside  ye'd  better  stay  within. 

"  A  faither  once  forsaken  by  his  ain — 
His  tender  heart  as  quickly  turns  to  stane  ; 

"  As  ower  the  garden  wa'  I  throw  the  weed, 
I  cast  her  forth,  nae  matter  how  ye  plead  !  " 

"  Yer  stubborn  mind,  John,  turns  your  heart  to  scorn — 
Ye've  thrown  awa'  the  plant  and  left  the  thorn  ! 

"  Why,  vices  are  but  virtues  playin'  traitor  ; 
Man  but  the  tainted  stamp  o'  his  Creator ! 

"  Was  not  the  De'il  an  angel  once  himsel'? 
Had  he  no'  played  the  traitor  he'd  no'  fell ! 

"  'Mang  those  o'er-righteous  Jews,  Christ  found  not  one 
Who  dared  to  raise  the  hand  or  cast  a  stone  ; 

"  Not  only  uncondemned,  but  a'  forgiven, 
Was  human  frailty  by  the  Lord  o'  heaven. 

"  Take  hame  the  truth,  for  ye  can  ill  afford 
To  be  more  unforgivin'  than  your  Lord  ; 

"  To  shut  the  door  o'  mercy  is  na  well ; 
Ye  shut  the  door  o'  heaven  agin  yersel' !  " 

"  Guid  Nan,  yer  speeches  make  my  heart  full  sair; 
I  do  forgive,  I  pray  ye  say  nae  mair  ! " 

"  To  say  ye  will  forgive  and  na  forget, 
Is  holdin'  mair  than  half  yer  anger  yet. 


78  SHALL  BESS  COME  HAME? 

"  'Tis  in  the  night,  \vi'  ither  senses  still, 

The  heart  will  speak  and  speak  withoot  the  will ; 

"  I  heard  ye  in  yer  sleep  the  ither  night 
A-talkin'  what  ye  felt  wi'  a'  yer  might ; 

"  Yer  will  had  gane  to  sleep  wi'  bitter  word  ; 
Yer  heart  unguarded  spake,  and  this  I  heard  : 

"  '  Come  back,  my  pretty  bairn,  where'er  ye  be— 
Yer  broken-hearted  faither's  callin'  ye  ! ' 

"  Yer  heart  sobbed  oot  the  truth  yer  will  denied, 
And  spake  wi'  tears,  for  a'  the  night  ye  cried. 

"  Wi'  that  I  sought  the  lass  in  yonder  town, 
Where  that  smooth  city  chap  had  set  her  down  ! 

"  Could'st  see  her,  John,  as  soon  I  hope  ye  may, 
Ye  wouldna  have  the  heart  to  turn  away  ; 

"  For  on  my  neck  the  lass  did  sob  and  moan : 
'  O  mither,  mither,  had  I  only  known ! 

"  •  I  didna  know  the  things  were  wrong,'  said  she, 
'  The  pleasing  stranger  sweetly  said  to  me  ! ' 

"  She  sits  and  thinks,  and  weepin'  wi'  her  thought, 
Bewails  a  fault  because  she  was  untaught." 

"  To  think,  guid  Nan,  that  we  should  raise  a  daughter 
To  gang  amiss  for  a'  that  we  hae  taught  her !  " 

"  The  fault's  our  ain,  dear  John,  we  must  admit ; 
To  see  a  danger's  half  avoidin'  it. 


SHALL  BESS  COME  HAME? 


79 


"  We  taught  her  what  was  right,  but  a'  along 
We  never  told  the  lass  just  what  was  wrong." 

"  Ah,  Nan,  that  a'  the  preachers  had  yer  skill 
To  bring  sae  muckle  guid  from  every  ill ! 

"  Now  look  ye,  wife,  this  makes  me  doubly  sad  : 
She  slighted  Reuben,  sic  an  honest  lad  ! " 

"  Ah,  John,  he's  kinder  to  yer  bairn  than  you ; 
'Twas  he  that  took  me  to  her,  he  that  knew ; 

"  He  ne'er  gave  ower  searchin'  a'  aboot — 
'Twas  only  love  like  his  could  search  her  oot." 

"  If  that  be  true,  nor  may  I  doubt  the  same, 
Where'er  she  be,  our  Bess  sha'  soon  come  hame ! 

"  Why,  Nan,  if  Reuben  love  her  as  at  first, 
I  fear  the  faither's  heart  wi'  joy  will  burst." 

"  Ah,  John,  he  loves  her  mair  than  I  can  tell, 
He's  comin'  now  to  say  as  much  himsel' !  " 

For  Bess  and  Reuben  had  been  waiting  there 
At  open  door  behind  the  old  man's  chair. 

"  Ah,  Reuben,  Reuben,  welcome,  welcome,  boy ! 
Ye  rob  me  o'  my  grief  wi'  double  joy  ! 

"  I  was  intent  upon  the  mither's  talk, 
And  didna  hear  ye  comin'  up  the  walk  ; 

"  Or  were  you  standin'  quiet  there  ootside, 
To  hear  the  mither  pleadin'  for  yer  bride  ? 


8o  SHALL  BESS  COME  HA  ME? 

"  I  know  ye've  come  to  ask  me  for  my  Bess — 
Don't  say  me  nay,  'twould  leave  her  faitherless. 

"  To  rob  me  o'  my  joy — I  couldna'  bear 
To  sink  again  into  my  old  despair ! 

"  How  can  an  old  man  keep  his  will  at  a'— 
Wi'  coaxin'  wife  and  sic  a  son-in-law  ? 

"  For  that  I'll  make  ye  'fore  anither  day 
And  gie  the  lass  nae  chance  to  run  away. 

"  But  she'll  no'  run  away  agin  frae  you — 
One  taste  o'  grief  for  sic  as  Bess  wiL  do  ! 

"  For  a'  the  woe  she'll  better  love  the  weal, 

And  truer  be  for  havin'  seen  the  De'il ! 

• 

"  I'll  to  the  town  and  fetch  the  wanderin'  one, 
Then  gie  the  farm  and  Bess  for  sic  a  son. 

"  When  I  hae  brought  her  let  nae  tear  be  seen, 
And  speak  nae  censure,  for  she  comes  forgi'en. 

"  Before  I  gang  we'll  pray  the  Lord  above 
To  gie  me  back  my  ain— my  Bessie's  love." 

He  closed  his  eyes  as  blue-bells  close  at  even, 

And  calmly  raised  his  sun-brown  face  toward  heaven 

To  plead  more  earnestly  "  wi'  Him  aboon  "  : 
Or  else  to  keep  the  tears  from  "  tricklin'  doon  "  ; 

"  O  Lord,  forgive  a  faither  a'  his  blame, 

And  let  his  Bess— his  only  bairn— come  hame  !  " 


BAREFOOTED  AFTER    THE   COWS.          8 1 

The  mother,  kneeling,  little  minds  his  prayer, 
And  Reuben,  too,  on  t'other  side  the  chair ; 

They  beckon  Bess,  who  listens  at  the  door, 
Her  heart  is  full  and  she  can  wait  no  more ; 

Knowing  her  welcome,  comes  without  their  beck, 
To  put  her  arms  around  her  father's  neck ; 

And  softly  stealing  in  with  step  unheard, 

With  sweetest  kiss  on  earth  she  stops  his  word  ! 

Whereby  her  loving  father  knew  her  then, 

Nor  oped  his  eyes,  nor  stopped  to  say — "  Amen  !  " 

"  God  love  thee  !  'tis  my  Bess  come  back  to  me ; 
I  darena  look  for  fear  it  isna  thee ! 

"  And  I'm  sae  full  o'  joy  I  dinna  know 
If  I'm  in  heaven  above  or  heaven  below ! 

"  I'm  wi'  my  angel  and  I  dinna  care — 

Bess  is  come  hame  in  answer  to  my  prayer !" 


BAREFOOTED  AFTER  THE  COWS. 

"  THE  boys  "  had  come  back  to  the  farm, 
That  ever  through  life  bears  a  charm  ; 
And  though  we  were  all  sturdy  men, 
We  thought  to  live  over  again 
The  days  when  we  halloed  and  hooted, 
And  ran  down  the  pasture  barefooted ; 
We  stole  out  of  childhood  a  day, 
And  filled  it  up  brimful  of  play. 


82          BAREFOOTED  AFTER    THE   COWS. 

The  pond  and  the  swift  skimming  swallow ; 
The  wood  where  the  owl  used  to  hollo— 
Who-oo !  who-oo ! 

The  barn  full  of  hay 

Where  many  a  day 
We  tumbled  down  over  the  mows. 
The  grass  in  the  meadow  was  growing, 
The  cows  in  the  meadow  were  lowing — 
Mo-oo !  mo-oo ! 

Ah,  life  has  no  joy 

Like  that  of  a  boy 
Running  barefooted  after  the  cows ! 

We  ate  of  the  apples  that  fell 

From  the  harvest  tree  over  the  well ; 

For  never  in  life  could  we  meet 

With  apples  that  seemed  half  so  sweet ; 

Nor  water  had  we  ever  tasted 

Like  that  which  the  spring  ever  wasted  ; 

For  God  made  the  vintage  to  flow 

From  the  winepress  of  pebbles  below. 

The  pond  and  the  swift  skimming  swallow 
The  wood  where  the  owl  used  to  hollo — 
Who-oo  !  who-oo! 

The  barn  full  of  hay 

Where  many  a  day 
We  tumbled  down  over  the  mows. 
The  grass  in  the  meadow  was  growing, 
The  cows  in  the  meadow  were  lowing — 
Mo-oo  !  mo-oo  ! 

Ah,  life  has  no  joy 

Like  that  of  a  boy 
Running  barefooted  after  the  cows  ! 


BAREFOOTED  AFTER    THE   COWS.          83 

The  squirrel  so  proud  of  his  tail, 
The  chipmunk,  who  travels  by 'rail, 
The  blackbird,  the  robin,  the  jay- 
Each  gave  us  a  greeting  that  day. 
The  pastimes  of  boyhood  we  courted 
In  places  where  once  we  had  sported, 
And  when  the  old  dinner  horn  blew 
We  felt  the  old  hunger  anew. 

The  pond  and  the  swift  skimming  swallow ; 
The  wood  where  the  owl  used  to  hollo — 
Who- oo  !  who-oo  ! 

The  barn  full  of  hay 

Where  many  a  day 
We  tumbled  down  over  the  mows. 
The  grass  in  the  meadow  was  growing, 
The  cows  in  the  meadow  were  lowing — 
Mo-oo !  mo-oo ! 

Ah,  life  has  no  joy 

Like  that  of  a  boy 
Running  barefooted  after  the  cows ! 

'Twas  more  like  enacting  a  dream  ! 
We  waded  and  fished  in  the  stream, 
Which  somehow  looked  shallow  and  small, 
Nor  did  the  old  trees  seem  as  tall. 
Each  idol  of  boyhood  seemed  shattered, 
And  even  the  kingfisher  clattered — 
'"  No  power  can  bring  back  the  joys 
Of  childhood  to  overgrown  boys." 

Not  the  same  was  the  pond  nor  the  swallow, 
The  wood  where  the  owl  used  to  hollo, 
Who-oo  !  Who-oo  ! 


84         THE   FROG  AND    THE  FRENCHMAN. 

The  barn  full  of  hay 

Seemed  smaller  that  day 
We  tumbled  down  over  the  mows. 
New  grass  in  the  meadow  was  growing, 
Strange  cows  in  the  meadow  were  lowing- 
Mo-oo !  Mo-oo ! 

We  felt  not  the  joys, 

We  were  not  the  boys 
Who  ran  barefooted  after  the  cows. 


THE  FROG  AND  THE  FRENCHMAN. 

WHEN  the  grass  comes  slowly  creeping 
O'er  the  meadows,  in  good  keeping 

With  the  spring, 
Then  appears  the  early  peeper, 
Who,  to  lull  the  wanton  sleeper, 

'Gins  to  sing. 

Formerly,  he  used  to  sail 
By  the  motion  of  his  tail, 

When  pollywog ; 
But  he  lost  that  institution, 
In  the  course  of  evolution 

To  the  frog. 

Such  a  cunning  little  fellow, 
With  his  breast  a  greenish-yellow ; 

He  will  go 

Tuning  up  that  voice  unfailing, 
As  young  roosters,  when  first  tailing, 

Try  to  crow. 


THE  FROG  AND   THE  FRENCHMAN.        85 


On  a  lily-pad  he'll  teeter, 

And  maintain  he  sings  much  sweeter 

Than  a  bird  ; 

A  canary— the  last  feather 
Washed  away  by  rainy  weather, 

Take  his  word ; 

So  absurd. 

When  he  grows  a  little  sweeter, 
Epicurean  frog-eater 

Always  begs 

That  his  deft  and  agile  henchman 
Will  go  catch  this  tender  Frenchman, 

For  his  legs. 

So  he  hies  him  to  the  pond 
Or  the  eddy  just  beyond, 

In  the  creek, 

Where  he  finds  the  full-grown  frog 
Basking  on  a  cozy  log  ; 

Hear  him  speak  : 

"  Greek  meets  Greek  ! 

Chug-a-reek  ! 

"  I'm  suspicious  of  your  nation, 
Though  I  like  your  conversation  : 

Paries-vans? 

But  if  you  are  not  polite,  sir, 
I'll  jump  quickly  out  of  sight,  sir, 

Entre-nous  ! 

Chug-a-roo  ! 

"  Do  you  think,  oh,  simple  sinner, 
You  will  catch  a  Sunday  dinner 
With  a  bug  ? 


86 


THE  FROG  AND    THE  FRENCHMAN. 


Regardes  !    Begin  to  banter 
With  red  rag,  I'm  gone  instant er; 

Chug-a-rug  ! 

Chug-a-rug  / 

"  Shrug  your  shoulders  well,  monsieur, 
There's  no  use  to  make  detour, 

I  know  your  game. 
I'm  content  to  parlez-vous, 
If  my  broken  French  will  do, 
But  I'll  keep  an  eye  on  you, 

All  the  same, 

Chug-a-rame  ! 

"  Like  the  Premiere  Danseuse, 
A  fat  frog  is  of  no  use, 

Save  his  limb  ; 

So  like  '  sprinter '  on  his  pegs, 
I  had  better  stretch  my  legs, 

Nice  and  trim, 

For  a  swim, 

Chug-a-rim  / 

In  the  brink 

Don't  you  think? 

Chug-a-rink  ! 

Chug-a-rink  ! 

Chug-a-rink  ! 

"  Were  I  cooked  and  on  a  plate, 
You  would  have  a  tete-a-tete, 

Avec  amour, 
With  fair  lady  vis-a-vis  ; 
Two  is  pleasant  companee, 
Always  spoiled  by  number  three. 

So,  Bonjour  !  " 


THREE  LULLABY S.  87 

"  Ze  same  to  you  !  " 
"  Taisez-vous  !  " 
"  Par  bleu!" 
"  Chug-a-roo  ! 
Hu-hu-hoo  !  " 


THREE  LULLABYS. 

IN  days  gone  by  when  a  baby  I, 

And  mother's  fond  heart  was  young, 
Upon  her  breast  she  laid  me  to  rest, 

And  rocking  me,  sweetly  sung  ; 
Thus  to  and  fro,  with  a  song  I  know 

That  hadn't  a  touch  of  art, 
Sleep  closed  the  eye  with  a  lullaby 
That  came  from  a  mother's  heart 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  rock-a-by  baby, 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  rock-a-by  dear  ; 
Sweet  be  thy  slumber,  my  darling,  my  baby 
Angels  are  watching  and  mother  is  near  ! 

The  days  went  by  and  a  little  one  I, 

With  Dolly  upon  my  knee, 
I  sang  the  air,  in  my  rocking  chair, 

That  mother  had  sung  to  me. 
Then  laid  her  down  in  her  little  nightgown, 

Tucked  in  with  a  mother's  care, 
To  close  her  eye  with  a  lullaby, 
Soon  after  her  dolly  prayer  ; 

Lullaby,  lullaby,  rock-a-by  baby, 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  rock-a-by  dear  ; 
Sweet  be  thy  slumber,  my  darling,  my  baby 
Angels  are  watching  and  mother  is  near ! 


88  THE  NEW  BABY. 

The  years  rolled  by,  and  a  maiden  I ; 

Dear  mother  had  passed  away. 
Upon  her  breast,  like  a  babe  at  rest, 

A  pretty  white  rosebud  lay. 
Her  hands  crossed  so— till  it  seemed  as  though 

She  thought  she  were  holding  me. 
Death  closed  her  eye  with  a  lullaby, 
To  wake  in  eternity. 

Lullaby,  lullaby,  rock-a-by  baby, 
Lullaby,  lullaby,  rock-a-by  dear  ; 
Sweet  be  thy  slumber,  my  darling,  my  baby 
Angels  are  watching  and  mother  is  near  ! 


THE   NEW  BABY. 

Tind  friends,  I  pray  extuse  me 

From  matin'  any  speech, 
Betause  I  is  so  'ittle 

I  ain't  dot  much  for  each  ; 
There  aint  much  edutation 

In  such  a  'ittle  head  ; 
Besides,  I  is  so  s'eepy 

An'  wants  to  do  to  bed. 

But  when  it  turns  my  bedtime, 

My  mamma  leaves  a  light 
To  teep  off  all  the  booboos 

Wat  visit  in  the  night. 
My  mamma  allus  worries 

For  fear  I'll  dit  a  cough, 
An'  ties  down  all  the  bedc'ose 

Betause  I  ticks  'em  off. 


THE  NEW  BABY.  89 

.She  says  I'm  awful  westless 

Like  dranpa's  'ittle  nag, 
An'  if  I  don't  s'eep  quiet 

She'll  tie  me  in  a  bag  ! 
She's  found  anuzzer  baby 

Dat's  noisier  than  I, 
Betause  it  don't  do  noffin' 

But  stay  in  bed  an'  cwy. 

She  found  it  in  the  garret ; 

I  dess  it's  dumb  an'  deef ; 
It's  such  a  funny  tolor, 

An'  aint  dot  any  teef  ; 
An'  aint  dot  any  eyebrows, 

An'  aint  dot  any  hair ; 
In  fact,  it  aint  dot  noffin, 

Nor  any  shoes  to  wear. 

"Tis  all  wapped  up  in  flannel, 

An'  tovered  head  an'  ears, 
An'  allus  cwys  for  noffin' 

An'  aint  dot  any  tears ! 
I  thought  of  tourse  'twas  hungry, 

An'  dave  it  citron-cake  ; 
It  cwyed  then  more  than  ever — 

I  dess  'twas  stomit-ache ! 

She  tails  it  "  Tootsy- Wootsy," 

An'  papa  tails  it  "  Nigger  " ; 
An'  Uncle  Joe  won't  touch  it, 

He  says,  until  it's  bigger. 
I  squeezed  its  'ittle  stomit 

To  see  if  it  tould  talk  ; 
It  aint  no  better'n  dolly, 

For  all  it  did  was  squawk. 


9°  LULLABY, 


No,  I  don't  like  new  babies, 

Neizer  does  Uncle  Joe  ; 
He  said  'twould  take  till  Trismas 

Before  the  cub  would  grow. 
But,  if  it  is  my  brozzer, 

I'll  teep  it  any  way 
Till  mamma  finds  anozzer 

Wat's  big  enough  to  play. 


LULLABY. 

LAY  thy  head  upon  this  pillow, 
With  its  curly,  golden  crown, 
Rocking,  swaying  like  the  willow  ! 
Fairies  close  thine  eyelids  down — 
On  thy  sweet  lips  lay  a  blessing, 
With  a  fairies'  good-night  kiss  ! 
But  no  touch  of  their  caressing 
Ever  can  be  sweet  as  this ! 
Lul-la-by-o,  By-lo-baby  ! 
Angels  brought  thee  from  above 
Deeming  any  gift  of  Heaven 
Safe  within  a  mother's  love  ! 

Cheeks  like  apples,  fair  and  rosy, 
Pillowed  on  thy  mother's  breast ! 
Never  babe  had  couch  more  cozy, 
Never  love  a  sweeter  rest. 
Artist,  can  you  tell  the  story  ? 
Can  you  paint  a  face  like  this, 
Haloed  with  an  infant  glory  ? 
Can  you  paint  a  mother's  kiss  ? 


THE    WASP  AT  CAMP  MEETING.  91 

Lul-la-by-o,  By-lo-baby ! 
Angels  brought  thee  from  above  ; 
Deeming  any  gift  of  Heaven 
Safe  within  a  mother's  love  ! 


THE  WASP  AT  CAMP  MEETING. 

THE  wasp's  a  living  poison  bag  ! 
As  yellow  as  a  smallpox  flag ! 
So  laced  that  he  can  hardly  wag 

His  nether  half — 
The  part  that  holds  the  wicked  jag 

Or  venomed  gaff. 

So  like  a  peanut  cinched  athwart, 
You  wonder  he  don't  break  apart ; 
His  cussedness  is  in  the  dart 

At  t'other  end ! 
A  good  long  distance  from  the  heart, 

You  may  depend. 

Of  entomology  the  king  ; 
The  very  devil  on  the  wing, 
Whose  only  virtue  is  a  sting, 

And  that's  a  vice  ! 
No  boy  who  ever  felt  the  thing 

Required  it  twice ! 

What  is  his  purpose  no  one  knows  ; 
All  other  beings  are  his  foes  ; 
A  criminal  his  wardrobe  shows, 

From  stem  to  mizzen. 
As  if  in  his  striped  convict  clothes 

Escaped  from  prison. 


92  THE    WASP  AT  CAMP  MEETING. 

So  very  cowardly  they  call't 
When  one  turns  tail  in  an  assault ! 
But  here  the  saying  is  at  fault  : 

This  torment  yellow 
Turns  tail — a  backward  somersault — 

And  stings  a  fellow  ! 

No  scientist  will  e'er  intrude 

Upon  a  hornet's  solitude  ; 

But  when  he's  in  a  pleasant  mood, 

And  all  things  sunny, 
You  take  him  for  the  insect  dude, 

He  walks  so  funny. 

It's  little  nonsense  he  will  bear ! 
Though  he's  confined  you'd  best  beware 
He'll  vibrate  that  back-end  affair, 

The  pesky  elf, 
And  get  so  mad  he'll  sting  the  air, 

Then  sting  himself ! 

The  luckless  lad  with  bare  feet  brown 
Awakes  his  wrath,  or  tempts  his  frown  ; 
He  doesn't  sting  him  on  the  crown, 

Nor  on  the  cheek, 
But  where  the  rascal  can't  sit  down 

The  coming  week ! 

Of  human  courage  much  is  told  ; 
We  know  a  hero's  very  bold 
When  battles  rage  or  women  scold ; 

And  fear,  he'd  scorn  it ! 
But  quickly  he  lets  go  his  hold 

For  master  hornet ! 


THE    WASP  AT  CAMP  MEETING.  93 

Vain  man,  why  boast  of  victories  won, 
And  many  glorious  things  you've  done? 
A  little  wasp  will  make  you  run 

As  if  demented, 
With  his  breech-loading  needlegun, 

The  first  invented ! 

I'll  fight  the  armies  of  the  globe, 
Give  me  the  wasp,  whose  yellow  lobe 
Is  armored  with  a  poisoned  probe, 

Too  small  for  scrutiny, 
If  I  can  have  a  steel-clad  robe, 

In  case  of  mutiny  ! 

What  fears  are  in  the  youngster's  breast, 
Who  dares  to  stone  a  hornet's  nest ! 
Anon  he  sees  the  swarming  pest ! 

Too  soon  he'll  rue  it ; 
Those  boils  of  Job,  when  at  their  best, 

Were  nothing  to  it ! 

In  top-shaped  nest  of  mud  well  dried, 
Or  homemade  paper,  they  abide ! 
You  plug  the  hole,  at  eventide, 

That's  in  the  bottom, 
With  all  the  wasps  asleep  inside, 

And  then  you've  got  'em  ! 

Some  boys  who  fixed  a  nest  just  right, 
A  whole  camp  meeting  put  to  flight : 
Beneath  the  rough  seats  out  of  sight 

They  placed  the  thing  ; 
And  to  the  cork  which  made  it  tight 

They  tied  a  string ! 


94  THE    WASP  AT  CAMP  MEETING. 

The  elder  was  interpreting 

His  text :     "  O  Death,  where  is  thy  sting  ?  " 

Those  devilish  boys  then  yanked  the  string, 

And  loosed  the  cork ! 
Whereat  each  maddened  wasp  took  wing, 

And  set  to  work ! 

The  strongest  sermon  e'er  delivered  ! 
The  sinners  and  the  deacons  quivered ! 
The  congregation  rose  and  shivered  ; 

And  down  they  sank ! 
'Twas  something  more  than  being  slivered 

By  hemlock  plank. 

The  elder  seemed  so  much  delighted 
To  think  he'd  roused  the  poor  benighted, 
And  many  sinners  proselyted 

From  certain— well, 
The  fact  is,  he  was  so  near-sighted 

He  couldn't  tell. 

The  women  ran  nor  looked  behind  'em, 
But,  oh,  the  wasps  were  bound  to  find  'em 
And  give  'em  something  to  remind  'em 

Of  the  text ! 
Which  to  the  sting  of  Death  resigned  'em, 

Had  it  come  next ! 

Though  matters  grave  in  vain  may  woo  us, 
The  merest  trifles  oft  undo  us  ! 
With  florid  words  they  often  sue  us— 

The  Lord's  anointed — 
When,  like  the  wasp,  they  should  pursue  us 

With  truths  more  pointed. 


MOTHER.  95 


MOTHER. 

TWAS  she,  my  friend,  who  gave  you  birth, 
And  brought  you  to  this  glorious  earth  ! 
Upon  her  heart  before  the  hearth 

She  cooed  and  cuddled  you. 
She  wrapped  you  in  your  long  white  gown, 
She  brushed  and  kissed  your  fuzzy  crown, 
And  never  deigned  to  lay  you  down 

Till  drink  had  fuddled  you. 

In  night  robe,  kneeling  by  her  chair, 

Her  hand  upon  your  silken  hair, 

You  learned  to  lisp  that  first  sweet  prayer 

To  childhood  known  : 
1  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep  " — 
Why  should  you  hold  that  soul  so  cheap 

When  you  are  grown  ? 

You  toddled  off  to  school  one  day ; 
'  I'll  have  a  rest !  "  she  tried  to  say, 
Until  the  tears  got  in  the  way  ; 

For  ten  times  thrice 
She  watched  your  coming  at  the  door  ! 
Imagine  how  her  heart  gets  sore 
When  you  are  gone  forevermore 

To  schools  of  vice. 

You  left  your  home  in  early  years ; 
In  with  your  clothes  she  packed  her  fears ; 
You'd  think,  to  see  her  sprinkling  tears, 
'Twas  ironing  day. 


96  MOTHER. 


For  every  kiss  she  gave  you  ten  ! 
How  many,  many  times  since  then, 
She's  wished  and  wished  you  back  again — 
Back  at  your  play. 

If  you  would  watch  your  steps  to-day 
As  she  did  in  your  childish  play, 
You'd  never  go  in  paths  astray 

Where  vices  lead ! 

Could  you  but  feel  the  joy  that  came 
To  her,  when  first  you  lisped  her  name, 
You'd  never  cover  it  with  shame 

By  one  misdeed. 

Had  her  breast  been  one-half  as  cold 
As  yours  to  her,  now  she  is  old, 
Your  tale  of  life  were  easy  told, 

And  out  of  mind. 

You  are  not  worth,  e'en  at  your  best, 
One-half  you  cost  of  sad  unrest ; 
Yet  in  the  temple  of  her  breast 

You  are  enshrined. 

No  love  like  hers  when  all  is  said  : 
She'd  sell  her  shoes  to  buy  you  bread, 
And  choke  her  hunger  while  you  fed — 

Would  any  other  ? 
Forgive  you  ninety  times  and  nine, 
And  for  your  sake  her  life  resign ; 
If  there's  one  thing  on  earth  divine, 

'Tis  your  good  mother. 

Though  much  the  human  breast  may  bear; 
Some  mothers  get  more  than  their  share 
Of  broken  heart  and  whitened  hair ; 
Can  you  deny  it  ? 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD.        97 

The  greatest  debt  that  you  can  owe 
Is  to  that  mother — you  may  go 
And  pay  it  with  a  kiss  or  so  ; — 
Suppose  you  try  it. 


LIBERTY  ENLIGHTENING  THE  WORLD. 

BENEATH  the  azure  canopy  on  high, 

While  round  her  brow  the  winds  of  freedom  play, 

Upon  her  granite,  towering  to  the  sky, 

Stands  Liberty  between  the  blue  and  gray. 

Mute  priestess  standing,  Bible  in  her  hand, 
She  pledges  all  who  enter  by  the  sea, 
"  Take  what  you  will  within  this  promised  land, 
But  never  touch  her  glorious  liberty." 

"  Drop  rancor  in  the  waters  of  the  bay, 
Where  peaceful  rivers  meet  the  turbid  sea ; 
With  heaven's  dew  immersed  or  ocean's  spray, 
Take  Liberty's  baptism  of  the  free." 

Who  than  colossal  Liberty  more  meet 

To  wave  in  heaven  our  freedom's  flambeau  high, 

And  add  to  upper  ocean's  fiery  fleet, 

Or  fix  another  star  in  yonder  sky  ? 

When  purple  wines  o'erflow  Sol's  evening  cup, 
When  dusky  winds  have  night's  black  flag  unfurl'd, 
Then  Freedom  lights  her  glowing  taper  up, 
A  new  aurora  gleams  athwart  the  world. 

Her  countless  banners  waving  in  the  sun, 
To  deck  her  cities  marshaled  on  the  plain  ; 


98  PAT'S  OPINION  OF  FLAGS. 

Her  States,  so  maijy  nations  joined  in  one, 
While  mountains  sing  and  oceans  chant  refrain. 

No  standing  army  guards  this  mighty  land  ; 
And  yet  from  surf  to  surf,  from  Gulf  to  Lake, 
A  myriad  freemen  only  wait  command 
To  march  through  valor's  field  for  freedom's  sake. 

Lo  !  at  her  beck  the  poised  eagle  wheels 
Up  heaven's  highway,  where  mortal  never  trod, 
Laden  with  love  the  loyal  patriot  feels, 
Bearing  the  token  to  the  nation's  God. 


PAT'S  OPINION  OF  FLAGS. 

EVERY  man  in  the  world  thinks  his  banner  the  best, 

And  his  national  song 

Is  often  too  long, 

Yet  in  praising  his  flag  he  makes  sport  of  the  rest, 
Though  there's  many  a  truth  that  is  spoken  in  jest, 

Save  wid  malice  prepense 

There  should  be  no  offense. 

There's  the  Hawaiian  kingdom  stuck  out  in  the  ocean  ; 

Tvvas  made  as  a  site 

For  the  seabirds  to  light ; 

There  they  worship  their  colors  wid  colored  devotion, 
And  they  never  have  war,  but  internal  commotion, 

For  those  islands  contain,  O, 

Queen  Lilli's  volcano, 

For  the  honor  of  flags  how  much  blood  has  been  spilt ! 
Yet  humanity  clings 
To  those  queer-looking  things. 


PAT'S  OPINION  OF  FLAGS.  99 

Take  the  flag  of  Japan  that's  all  covered  wid  gilt, 
And  the  Austrian  flag,  like  a  new  "  crazy  quilt," 

And  that  bit  of  caprice 

That  is  all  over  Greece. 

And  the  flag  of  Siam,  wid  an  elephant  on  it, 

Which  is  good  reason  why 

It  has  hard  work  to  fly ! 

While  the  Turk  has  a  flag  wid  a  crescent  upon  it, 
And  he  wears  the  same  token  stuck  up  on  his  bonnet, 

But  the  Russian  will  soon 

Take  the  Turk  and  the  moon. 

There's  the  flag  wid  two  Russian  birds  pasted  together, 

But  wid  only  two  toes, 

'Cause  the  others  got  froze  ; 

And  they're  itchin'  for  war  till  ye  cannot  tell  whether 
They're  after  the  earth  or  more  suitable  weather ; 

Still  there's  none  cares  to  fight 

Wid  the  cold  Muscovite. 

There's  the  flag  over  Venice,  where  no  dust  can  fly, 

Hence  it  always  looks  neat : 

For  they  water  the  street ! 

And  the  flag  of  the  Switzer,  that  floats  very  high, 
Since  the  most  of  their  country  is  up  in  the  sky ; 

But  they're  too  much  stuck  up 

For  the  goat's  milk  they  sup. 

Then  the  flag  of  the  Germans,  much  like  that  of  France ; 

Save  the  "  parley  Francais  " 

Have  their  stripes  t'other  way  ; 

O'er  the  land  in  dispute  both  their  war  horses  prance, 
First  the  wan,  then  the  other ;  I  think  'twould  enhance 

Poor  Alsace  and  Lorraine 

To  move  over  by  Spain. 


ioo  PAT'S  OPINION  OF  FLAGS. 


There's  the  red  flag  of  England  they  say  rules  the  wave ; 

'Tis  small  good,  to  my  notion, 

This  rulin'  the  ocean, 

And  for  all  that  I  care  she  can  make  it  her  grave, 
For  it  isn't  the  WATER  that  Irishmen  crave. 

But  the  land  of  old  Erin, 

Wid  no  interferin'. 

Has  their  flag  any  right  there  ?     No,  that's  a  mistake  : 

Those  in  history  versed 

Know  the  green  wan  was  first. 

'Twas  St.  Patrick  who  drove  out  of  Ireland  the  snake, 
Now  I  wish,  'pon  my  soul,  the  good  saint  would  awake 

And  from  bog  and  from  crag 

Would  drive  out  the  red  flag. 

There's  the  green  flag  of  Erin  wid  no  one  to  play 

On  its  harp  of  pure  gold, 

At  least  so  I've  been  told  ; 

But  ye  can't  always  reckon  on  what  people  say ; 
They've  been  harpin'  on  "  Home  Rule  "  this  many  a  day 

And  they'll  get  it  no  doubt, 

If  the  harp  don't  wear  out. 

They're  just  tunin'  it  up,  only  tightenin'  each  string; 

When  they  have  it  "  O.  K." 

There  '11  be  plenty  to  play ; 

Wid  the  music  of  yore  the  whole  island  will  ring 

Faith  ye'll  hear  something  foine  when  the  Irishmen  sing; 

Then  the  flag  of  the  Queen 

Will  wid  envy  turn  green. 

There's  the  flag  of  the  Chinese,  as  everywan  knows, 
Cut  three-cornered  wid  care, 
Like  they'd  no  cloth  to  spare  ; 


PAT'S  OPINION  OF  FLAGS.  101 

Yet  they  seem  to  have  plenty  when  makin'  their  clothes ; 
Havin'  no  fashion  plate,  they've  cut  big,  I  suppose  ; 

Hangin'  loose  roundabout 

So  the  fleas  will  drop  out. 

You  can  judge  of  those  men  by  the  wardrobe  they  wear  : 

They  don't  look  to  get  fits 

For  a  "  dollar  six  bits." 

Their  flag  was  made  yellow,  as  people  declare, 
Because  they've  the  smallpox  so  much  over  there  ; 

Be  warned,  if  ye're  wise, 

By  the  dragon  it  flies. 

But  one  of  the  prettiest  flags  that  I  know 

Is  the  great  oroflam 

Of  our  old  Uncle  Sam  ; 

Wid  the  red  and  white  bars  all  laid  out  in  a  row, 
And  a  nice  pasture  blue  for  the  bright  stars  to  grow  ; 

Wid  the  eagle  above 

And  around  it  the  dove. 

Of  the  Star-spangled  Banner  alone,  it  is  said 

She  has  earned  this  renown — 

She  was  niver  pulled  down. 

With  the  green  on  my  grave  and  that  flag  overhead 
I  think  I'll  rest  aisy !     But  wait  till  I'm  dead  ! 

Wid  that  flag  in  the  sky 

I'm  in  no  haste  to  die. 


102  THE    SKELETON. 


THE  SKELETON. 

GOOD-EVENING,  Sexton  !    Don't  lose  your  breath  ! 

You  are  not  shaking  the  hand  of  Death  ! 

For  I'm  a  skeleton,  you  must  know  ; 

I  just  came  out  of  the  grave  below. 

For  years  I've  noted  your  careless  tread, 

And  harmless  whistling  above  the  dead. 

Though  I'm  a  stranger,  I  know  you  well, 

And  grieve  that  longer  I  cannot  dwell 

Within  old  Trinity's  churchyard  block, 

While  those  Italians  are  blasting  rock  ! 

Oh,  I'm  a  skeleton,  you  must  know ! 

I've  left  my  tenement  down  below  ! 

I'm  forced  to  move  to  an  uptown  flat ; 

The  rooms  are  smaller,  but  what  of  that? 

Yes,  I'm  a  relic  of  long  ago  ! 
I've  slept  a  century  down  below  ! 
My  name  is  gone  from  the  crumbling  stone  ; 
There's  nothing  left  of  myself  but  bone. 
A  Knickerbocker  I  am  of  old ! 
The  grave's  "  Four  Hundred,"  when  all  is  told, 
Within  old  Trinity's  churchyard  lie — 
And  so  exclusive  !    But  here's  good-by  ! 
For  things  are  coming  to  such  a  pass 
The  dead  can't  sleep  for  the  smell  of  gas. 
Oh,  I'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

I  left  this  land  to  my  next  of  kin, 

All  save  the  spot  I  was  buried  in. 

They  wet  my  bones  with  their  useless  tears, 

But  bones  and  memories  fade  with  years ; 


THE   SKELETON.  103 

Then  came  the  lawyer  to  break  the  will ; 
The  land  went  after  to  pay  the  bill. 
Now  strangers  come  with  their  ceaseless  tread 
And  grudge  the  space  of  my  folding-bed  ; 
They  crowd  me  so  in  the  narrow  tomb, 
I'll  have  to  look  for  another  room. 
Oh,  I'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

Farewell,  old  Sexton,  for  we  must  part ! 
I'd  heave  a  sigh,  but  I  have  no  heart  ; 
'Twas  at  post-mortem  when  some  old  quack 
Took  heart  and  lungs  which  he  brought  not  back. 
He  took  whatever  he  found  inside, 
As  proof  conclusive  the  corpse  had  died. 
He  robbed  the  dead  with  a  grewsome  theft ; 
The  microbes  dining  on  what  was  left. 
The  dead  breathe  not  as  the  living  do  : 
The  ribs  are  open,  the  air  blows  through. 
Oh,  I'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

From  lack  of  food  I  have  grown  so  thin 
I've  hardly  features  enough  to  grin. 
Your  tenant  longer  I  may  not  be 
Since  death  and  progress  cannot  agree ; 
For  who  can  tell  what  the  sound  forebodes 
To  one  entombed,  when  the  gas  explodes  ? 
I  might  have  slept  till  the  final  fire, 
But  touched  my  foot  on  a  subway  wire, 
Which  gave  my  rickety  nerves  a  shock, 
So  up  I  jumps  and  I  dons  my  frock. 
Oh,  I'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

Life  is  uncertain,  but  death  is  sure ; 
And  one  dies  rich  but  to  wake  up  poor ! 


104  THE  ENSIGN. 


However  big  the  estate  one  owns, 
Some  stranger  scatters  his  worthless  bones ! 
Tis  just  as  well,  for  the  moldy  grave 
Gives  little  rest  near  the  rattling  pave ; 
And  very  few  are  the  nights  we  pass 
Without  a  whiff  of  the  sewer  gas : 
For  though  I'm  dead,  you  must  not  suppose 
I  lost  my  smell  when  I  lost  my  nose. 
Oh,  I'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 

We  lonely  skeletons  used  to  laugh 
To  hear  the  click  of  the  telegraph  ; 
But  now  we  tremble  in  every  bone 
When  folks  "  Hello  !  "  on  the  telephone  ! 
Though  steam  heat  lessen  the  graveyard  chill, 
The  Knickerbocker  cannot  lie  still. 
Though  modern  faith  would  the  thought  dispel, 
He  still  believes  in  the  old-time  hell, 
And  has  good  reason  to  fear  the  worst 
Has  come  to  him  when  the  steampipes  burst ! 
Oh,  I'm  a  skeleton,  etc.,  etc. 


THE   ENSIGN. 

HERE  on  the  brink  of  battle 
I  fondly  kiss  each  fold  ; 
For  yonder  musket  rattle 
My  destiny  may  hold  ! 
Dear  Flag! 

Thou  ever  precious  banner, 
Beloved  of  all  the  free  ; 
The  soldier  in  this  manner 
Shows  love — he  dies  for  thee  ! 
Dear   Flag! 


THE  ENSIGN.  105 


What  citizen-devotion 

Can  ever  equal  be 

To  that  great  soldier-notion — 

Idolatry  of  thee  ! 

Dear  Flag! 

Thou'rt  not  unlike  the  others, 
But  only  better  made  ; 
For  sweethearts,  sisters,  mothers 
Stitched  in  each  silken  shade  ! 
Dear   Flag! 

In  prayer  they  clasp  those  fingers ; 
In  prayer  they  bend  the  knee  ; 
Their  blessing  'round  thee  lingers ; 
I  kiss  them,  kissing  thee  ; 
Dear  Flag! 

I  kiss  them  for  my  fellows, 
So  soon  to  cast  the  lot ! 
For  Fate  works  at  the  bellows  ! 
The  forge  will  soon  be  hot ! 
Dear   Flag! 

And  freedom's  breeze  is  kissing, 
Upon  thy  silken  scroll, 
Those  names  to  be  marked  missing, 
When  next  they  call  the  roll  ! 
Dear   Flag  ! 

'Tis  well  we  cannot  read  them — 
Enough  to  say  adieu 
Whenever  death  shall  need  them — 
Perhaps  my  name's  there,  too  ! 
Dear  Flag  ! 


io6  THE  ENSIGN. 


Our  regiment  is  standing 
In  battle's  dumb  array — 
And  waits  but  the  commanding, 
To  dash  into  the  fray  ! — 
Dear   Flag! 

Like  fierce  stampede  of  cattle, 
We'll  rush  where  foe  besets  ! 
Right  in  the  teeth  of  battle— 
Those  glistening  bayonets ! 
Dear  Flag! 

And  I'm  the  one  to  bear  thee ! 
The  one  to  lead  the  way  ! 
The  God  of  battles  spare  me, 
To  bring  thee  back  to-day  ! 
Dear   Flag! 

If  I  shall  fall  in  battle, 
Why,  thou  wilt  be  my  shroud, 
When  muffled  drum  shall  rattle 
Its  anthem  to  the  cloud ! 
Dear  Flag! 

Then,  by  the  clod  and  clover, 
Hid  from  the  blue  on  high, 
Thy  blue  sky  shall  be  over  ! 
Thy  bright  stars  ever  nigh  ! 
Dear  Flag! 


GUNS.  I07 


GUNS. 

HEAR  the  cracking  of  the  rifle, 
Hear  the  ball,  that  leaden  trifle, 

Whizzing  by! 

Whizzing  by  ?     Oh,  that  will  do  !— 
But  suppose  it  should  go  through  ? 

Then  we  die ! 

Oh,  'tis  such  a  fatal  skill, 

Where  each  ball  is  meant  to  kill — 

Where  'tis  known 
That  for  every  missile  borne 
Some  frail  uniform  is  torn, 
Wife  or  mother  left  to  mourn, 

All  alone. 

Swift  from  musket's  polished  steel 
Comes  the  message  :  woe  or  weal, 

Mostly  woe ; 

Soldier  shoots  as  though  he  meant  it, 
Bullet  comes  as  if  Death  sent  it 

From  the  foe. 

From  its  course,  nor  turns  nor  trends ; 
Makes  a  wound  no  surgeon  mends, 

And  a  flood ! 

Soldier  drops  from  out  the  ranks, 
Dearly  earns  the  nation's  thanks 

With  his  blood. 

And  that  bayonet  you  know,  sir, 
Is  for  argument  much  closer, 
Than  before ;  , 


108  GUNS. 


While  each  point  in  such  debate 
Seajs  some  noble  fellow's  fate, 
Evermore. 

It  is  not  "  Emancipation  " — 
Tis  a  question  of  the  Nation  ! 

Look,  how  pale 

Are  those  cheeks  that  once  were  ruddy, 
Blue  and  gray  coats,  torn  and  bloody, 

Tell  the  tale. 

What  is  that  unearthly  rattling  ? 
That's  another  gun,  by  Catling ; 

How  it  c-r-a-c-k-s ! 
'Tis  no  birthday  of  the  nation  ! 
This  is  Death's  own  celebration  ! 

Firing  packs 

Of  great  crackers  !    Turn  the  crank, 
Horrors  rattle  out  in  flank, 

Sum  untold  ! 

Aimed  at  yonder  gray  battalion, 
Where  Fate  rides  a  fretting  stallion, 

Uncontrolled. 

There  are  guns  that  speak  much  louder ; 
There  are  guns  that  use  more  powder, 

Stronger  death. 
Belching  fire  across  the  way, 
Like  volcanoes  in  full  play ! 

Deadly  breath ! 

From  yon  atmosphere  of  smoke, 
Some  artillerist's  keen  stroke 
Hath  cut  down 


GUNS.  l°9 


Swath  on  swath,  that  doth  betoken 
Mother-hearts  will  soon  be  broken 
In  the  town. 

Had  he  seen  that  wife's  hot  tears ; 

Known  the  grief  to  last  for  years- 
Widowhood  ! 

He'd  have  turned  away  that  gun ; 

Would  have  left  that  mother's  son, 
Where  he  stood. 

Dropping  in  another  quarter, 
From  volcanic  mouth  of  mortar, 

Meteors  fall ! 

O  !  that  most  destructive  shell, 
Bit  of  concentrated  hell 

In  a  ball. 

How  the  cannon  boom  !  and  boom  ! 
Hoarsely  shouting,  "Room  !  make  room  !  " 
How  they  sing  of  sudden  doom — 

Such  a  tune ! 

How  the  round-shot  seem  to  roll 
On  some  unsuspecting  soul — 

All  too  soon. 

Playing  skittles  through  the  air ; 
Making  always  strike  or  spare, 

As  they're  bowled  ! 
Like  a  ball  hurled  down  death's  alley, 
At  the  ten-pins  in  the  valley, 

Manifold. 

Do  you  want  that  little  spot, 
Where  the  fort  stands  reeking  hot, 
'Round  the  city  ? 


GUNS. 


Must  you  go  and  batter  down 
Those  great  walls  and  half  the  town  ? 
What  a  pity ! 

Should  some  earthquake  come  at  night, 
Swallow  city  out  of  sight ; 

Men  would  say : 
"  What  a  sad  and  awful  fate  ; 
Like  the  horrors  they  relate 

Of  Pompeii." 

Put  a  fuse  into  some  crater ! 
Blow  mankind  to  its  Creator — 

Just  as  well ! 

Blow  the  widow  and  the  weeper  ! 
And  the  orphan  and  the  sleeper  ! 
Blow  the  world  unto  its  Keeper — 

'Tis  a  shell ! 

What  is  all  this  fighting  for  ? 
Why  will  mankind  go  to  war  ? 

It  is  said 

Deadlier  engines  they  invent. 
Tell  me,  what  is  government 

To  the  dead  ? 

Watch  the  farmer  at  his  toil : — 
Where  great  gun-wheels  plowed  the  soil, 

Flowers  blooming  ! 
'Tis  much  better  occupation  ! 
'Tis  far  better  for  the  nation 

Than  guns  booming. 


DAME  NATURE'S  "CRAZY  QUILT"       m 


DAME  NATURE'S  "  CRAZY  QUILT." 

FAIR  Tombstone  sits  high  on  her  hills 

Midst  Arizona's  rolling  plains, 
Where  low-ridged  mountains  stand  apart, 

Like  scattered  links  of  broken  chains. 
The  mountain  builder  changed  his  plan, 

And  left  these  monstrous  bowlders  out, 
As  boys  play  with  ungainly  blocks 

And  leave  them  scattered  air  about. 

Like  some  great  chessboard  of  the  gods, 

With  castles  down  and  game  half-played 
Or  mastless  ships  in  Arctic  sea, 

Locked  in  eternal  ice  blockade, 
So  pure  the  air  that  distance  doth 

The  measuring  eye  ever  deceive. 
Could  Italy  behold  this  sky 

She  would  with  sunset-envy  grieve. 

With  summer's  midday  sun  aglow — 

Like  angels,  from  no  one  knows  where, 
Come  softest  swan-down  cumuli, 

Great  sunshades  lifted  in  mid-air  ; 
Or  plumed  battalions,  motionless, 

Till  marshaled  on  by  evening's  breeze ; 
Their  dazzling  whiteness  none  describes, 

Nor  half  believes  until  he  sees. 

The  sun  makes  battle  with  the  earth, 
Two  ancient  warriors  loath  to  yield ; 

Achilles'  golden  spear  breaks  through 
Hector's  uplifted  silver  shield  ; 


H2       DAME  NATURE'S  "CRAZY  QUILT." 

Strange  figures  crowd  the  gazer's  mind, 
As  gorgeous  visions  come  and  go, 

Moved  slowly  by  the  unseen  hand, 
In  wondrous  panoramic  show. 

The  sun,  with  fiery  eye  aslant, 

Glares  through  the  day's  slow-closing  door ; 
The  hills  grow  red,  and  shadows  drop 

In  canyons  unobserved  before  ; 
The  twilight  glory  gleams  athwart 

The  azure  canvas  stretched  on  high, 
While  heaven's  great  artist  deftly  paints 

His  sunset  fresco  on  the  sky. 

Then  Nature  spreads  her  patchwork  out, 

Of  purple,  crimson,  yellow,  gilt, 
And  all  the  tinted  glory  blends 

To  make  her  evening  "  Crazy  Quilt." 
The  east  reflects  the  western  glow 

That  blushes  up  the  arching  sky, 
And  nimble  fingers  lay  the  work, 

While  fast  the  golden  needles  fly. 

White  velvet  at  the  north  cuts  off, 

Where  yellow  satin  'gins  to  fade ; 
The  orange  lying  higher  up, 

Where  pink  silk  blocks  the  red  brocade ; 
The  antique  patterns  down  the  east, 

With  quilted  satins  mildly  blend  ; 
While  dark  maroon  grades  softly  down 

To  deepest  purple  at  the  end, 

Whose  rumpled  border,  tassel  frayed, 
Hangs  o'er  the  distant  mountain  edge, 

As  peacocks  drag  their  ponderous  tails, 
Or,  clumsy,  fly  the  cypress  hedge. 


YO  SEMITE. 


The  eye  sweeps  'round  with  level  gaze ; 

And  every  cloud  has  gay  attire  ; 
While  all  the  heavens  catch  the  glare 

Of  that  celestial  prairie  fire 

Along  the  west.     The  world's  ablaze  ! 

It  seems  as  though  the  end  were  near 
To  see  the  black  smoke  in  the  so'uth, 

And  Gabriel's  thunder-trumpet  hear; 
A  cloud  moves  up  the  glowing  west, 

Dropping  its  wine  in  colored  rain, 
As  border-maker  for  the  quilt, 

Trailing  red  fringe  along  the  main. 

The  patchwork  done — lo  !  from  the  south, 

Scaling  the  mountain's  bold  redoubt, 
With  onslaught  of  fierce  regiments, 

The  Storm  King  throws  his  Black  Flag  out 
As  lining  dark,  while  nimble  winds 

Stretch  it  beneath.     To  baste  it  tight 
The  lightning  darts  with  zigzag  stitch 

Adown  the  velvet  of  the  night. 


YOSEMITE. 

ARE  these  the  ruined  and  half  broken  walls 
Of  some  more  ancient  Ilium  ?     Who  can 
Translate  hieroglyphics  on  the  rocks — 
That  history  in  raised  alphabet — 
For  man's  blind  faith  to  read  with  finger  tips  ? 

Who  calls  the  Almighty  mute  ?     Let  him  come  here 
And  stand  upon  this  awful  chasm's  brink, 


H4  YO  SEMITE. 


And  though  his  ears  with  infidelity 

Be  clogged,  yet  he  shall  hear  a  voice  proclaim  : 

"I  am  Jehovah,  God  of  Sabaoth  ! " 

X 

If  yonder  domes  that  lift  their  broken  spires 
Almost  to  heaven,  and  those  stupendous  walls 
Whose  firm  foundations  rest  upon  the  ribs 
And  mighty  framework  of  the  globe,  were  not 
The  awful  masonry  of  God,  they'd  seem 
The  ruins  old  of  some  cathedral  vast, 
Where  Nature's  queen  Sublimity  had  wed, 
But  that  the  Fates  cut  short  the  nuptial  rite ; 
For  there  El  Capitan  the  bridegroom  stands, 
His  whilom  bride  at  altar  kneeling  yet — 
Her  "  Bridal  Veil  "  still  sweeping  down  the  aisle 
In  one  eternal  wedding  ! 

'Tis,  more  like, 

Some  temple  rude  where  ancient  gods  were  .vont 
To  worship ;  or  those  giants  old  who  dwelt 
In  days  of  mammoth  and  leviathan  ; 
So  gorgeous  in  its  grandeur  yet ;  its  vault 
The  vast  eternal  blue,  supported  by 
The  dazzling  rainbow's  arching  truss,  where  clouds 
In  ever  changing  fresco  hourly  gain 
Fresh  beauty,  till  their  sunset  glory  takes 
The  hues  of  heaven  !     Or  grander  when,  at  eve, 
Those  fleecy  vapors,  decked  like  virgins  wise. 
With  iridescent  star-lamps  trimmed  and  bright, 
Come  tripping  forth  to  meet  the  electric  moon, 
That  silver  bridegroom  of  the  wooing  night ! 

What  lures  the  soul,  upon  these  dizzy  heights, 

To  venture  o'er  the  abyss — as  yonder  hawk 

With  generous  wing  soars  through  the  midland  air, 


YO SEMITE.  US 


A  pinioned  Nautilus,  that  rises,  sinks 
Or  floats  at  will  ? 

Matchless  Yosemite ! 

High  on  Cloud's  Rest,  behind  the  misty  screen, 
Thy  Genius  sits  !     The  secrets  of  thy  birth 
Within  its  bosom  locked  !     What  power  can  rend 
The  veil,  and  bid  it  speak — that  spirit  dumb, 
Between  two  worlds,  enthroned  upon  a  Sphinx  ? 
Guard  well  thine  own,  thou  mystic  spirit !     Let 
One  place  remain  where  Husbandry  shall  fear 
To  tread  !     One  spot  on  earth  inviolate 
As  it  was  fashioned  in  eternity ! 

Thou  art  a  peopled  realm  within  thyself  : 
There  tender  saplings  nurse  upon  the  breast 
Of  Wah-wah-le-nah  !    Here,  like  graceful  maids, 
Umbrageous  trees  with  leafy  tresses  bend 
To  lure  the  ardent  stream  !     There  lofty  pines 
Like  plumed  warriors  stand  !     Like  ancient  knights, 
Those  huge  Sequoias  guard  the  realm  without  ! 
While  from  the  towers  on  every  battlement 
The  white  cascades  in  crystal  banners  float, 
And  soft  as  eagles'  wings  upon  the  softer  air, 
Their  misty  pennants  trail  upon  the  wind  ! 

Man  still  may  come  to  thy  baptismal  font 
Of  Mirror  Lake,  and  there  communing  find 
One  heaven  above  and  one  below,  where  in 
The  glass  both  firmaments  do  kiss  !  and  from 
The  myriad  swinging  censers  of  the  flowers 
Inhale  the  incense  on  its  way  to  heaven — 
Mute,  perfumed  prayers,  worth  more  than  litanies  ! 
While  mellow  symphonies  of  joyous  birds 


II 6  SILLY  BILLY. 


Blend  with  the  diapason  thundering 
From  deep-toned  organs  of  the  waterfalls- 
The  world's  exultant  pean  swelling  to 
The  majesty  of  all  the  universe  ! 


SILLY   BILLY. 

HE  was  the  biggest  fool  on  earth  ! 

And  looked  it,  too  ; 
No  matter  what  the  title's  worth, 

It  was  his  due. 

His  legs  turned  out,  his  toes  turned  in, 
He  had  a  silly  sort  o'  grin, 
When  he'd  look  up  an'  deown  agin', 

Had  Silly  Billy. 

He  had  the  slowest  Yankee  drawl 

Yo'  ever  heerd  ; 
But  gained  some  culture  with  it  all ; 

Was  Boston  reared, 
With  most  approved  aesthetic  diction. 
A  lie  he  called  "  evasive  fiction  "; 
And  quarrelin'  was  "  mental  friction  " 

To  Silly  Billy ! 

With  scorn  he  termed  our  common  speech 

"  Linguistic  stuff  !  " 
As  though  what  pretty  schoolma'ms  teach 

Wa'n't  good  enough. 

Plain  food  was  "  sustenance  for  lunchin' !  " 
While  sweets  were  "  most  delicious  crunchin'! 
And  chewin'  gum  was  "  female  munchin'  " 

To  Silly  Billy. 


SILLY  BILLY. 


His  trousers,  ragged  at  the  knees, 
Were  "  incomplete." 

His  "  terminal  facilities," 

He  called  his  feet. 

He  grew  "  leg-weary  "  when  he  walked  ; 

And  quite  Delsartian  when  he  talked  ; 

Though  people  laughed,  they  never  mocked 
Poor  Silly  Billy. 

He  said  his  name,  when  very  young, 
Was  "  Flyin'  Turtle," 

But  guessed  the  dust  from  which  he  sprung 
Wa'n't  over  fertile  : 

The  lightnin'  struck  his  family  tree, 

An'  clean  upsot  his  pedigree  ; 

So  after  all,  he  guessed  he'd  be 
Plain  Silly  Billy. 

The  widow  Farnham's  little  one 

Loved  Billy  so 
That  people  teased  her,  just  in  fun, 

About  her  beau. 

."  I  doesn't  care,"  said  little  Tot, 
"  Whezzer  oo  loves  him  or  not, 
He's  all  the  sweetheart  I  has  dot, 

Is  Tilly  Billy." 

Though  living  on  the  public  care, 
He  worked  his  way, 
And  was  most  welcome  everywhere  ; 

But  little  May 

He  called  his  "  sunbeam  cherubim," 
And  often  would  his  eyes  grow  dim 
To  hear  her  lispingly  call  him— 
Her  "  Tilly  Billy." 


"8  SILLY  BILLY. 


Was  honest,  faithful,  good,  and  kind— 

As  most  fools  are  ; 
And  one  could  trust  his  silly  mind 

However  far. 

One  morn  Tot's  mother  heard  her  say — 
As  was  her  custom  every  day— 
"  I  dess  I'll  run  outdoors  an'  play 

Wiv  '  Tilly  Billy  ' !  " 

She  couldn't  find  him  anywhere  ; 

And,  coming  back, 
She  stopped  to  play  with  pebbles  there 

Upon  the  track. 

Right  where  the  train  comes  down  the  grade, 
That  great  monopoly  of  trade ; 
Yet  no  one  sees  the  little  maid. 

Where's  Silly  Billy  ? 

Just  as  the  train  came  dashing  by 

From  yonder  curve  ; 
Just  as  they  heard  the  mother's  cry, 

Something  with  nerve, 
Something  with  soul  and  a  face  so  pale 
Plunged  right  before  the  flying  mail, 
Pushing  the  tot  beyond  the  rail— 

Was't  Silly  Billy? 

A  rumbling  rush  !    Through  dust  and  smoke 

That  mother  flew  ! 
She  laughed,  and  cried  ;  while  no  one  spoke  ; 

Then  laughed  anew  ; 
For  there  her  little  darling  sat, 
Playing  with  a  tattered  hat  ; 
Then  cried  again  on  seeing  that — 

For  it  was  Billy's  ! 


THE  FERRY.  119 


What  can  a  little  baby  know 
Of  life  or  death  ? 

"  Who  hurt  my  •  Tilly  Billy  '  so  ? 
He's  lost  hes  breath." 

To  die  for  her — heroic  thought, 

By  sudden  inspiration  caught ! 

And  'neath  the  modern  juggernaut, 
Lay  Silly  Billy. 

Whoever  for  another  dies, 

The  utmost  gives. 

The  spirit  such  death  sanctifies, 
Forever  lives. 

The  Golden  Gate  flew  open  wide 

To  welcome  that  great  soul  inside  ; 

'Twas  nothing  but  the  fool  that  died, 
Called  Silly  Billy. 


THE  FERRY. 

I  LOVE  the  maid  with  all  my  heart, 
Whose  father  tends  the  ferry. 

She  throws  a  kiss  when'er  we  part ; 
But  throws  it  o'er  the  ferry. 

Those  winged  blessings  of  the  air, 

With  real  ones  never  can  compare  ; 

But  ask  for  one  I  never  dare 
When  I  am  o'er  the  ferry. 

With  cheek  so  rosy,  eye  so  brown, 
They  lure  me  o'er  the  ferry. 

She  is  a  queen  with  golden  crown, 
Whose  kingdom  is  the  ferry  : 


120      THE  DEACON  AND    THE  JUNE  BUG. 

Yon  little  cot  her  castle  hall ; 
Her  navy  is  the  ferry  yawl ; 
And  those  her  willing  subjects  all 
Who  chance  to  cross  the  ferry. 

I'm  very  bashful  by  her  side, 
Yet  bold  across  the  ferry ; 

I  asked  her  :  would  she  be  my  bride  ? 
By  shouting  o'er  the  ferry ! 

And  she  replied  :  "  I  cannot  hear ! 

But  come  and  whisper  in  my  ear, 

And  I'll  say  'Yes,'  my  bashful  dear  !  " 
So,  here's  across  the  ferry ! 


THE  DEACON  AND  THE  JUNE  BUG. 

WHEN  in  the  summer  Sabbath  calm 

The  church  flies  croon  their  endless  psalm, 

Exhausted  nature  feels  no  qualm 

Of  conscience  rise, 
Should  slumber  come  with  grateful  balm 

To  close  the  eyes. 

When  drowsy  feelings  o'er  you  creep 
You'd  give  the  world  to  go  to  sleep  ; 
No  use  pretending  you  are  deep 

In  meditation, 
That  tell-tale  head  will  nodding  keep 

In  slow  vibration. 

With  sudden  start  and  blinking  eyes, 
You  bite  your  lip  and  pinch  your  thighs ; 


THE  DEACON  AND    THE  JUNE  BUG.      121 

In  vain  your  sturdy  manhood  tries 

To  keep  awake, 
The  prosy  sermon  justifies 

The  sleep  you  take. 

A  meager  man  was  Deacon  Gray. 
With  well-set  phrases  when  he'd  pray  ; 
His  Christian  duty  Sabbath-day, 

To  pass  the  plate  ; 
And  watch  in  a  reproachful  way 

Those  coming  late. 

Except  a  little  fringe  of  hair 

Behind  his  ears,  well  nursed  with  care, 

His  head  like  any  squash  was  bare, 

And  shone  as  well, 
And  might  in  other  ways  compare 

I'd  scorn  to  tell. 

Before  the  preacher  gave  his  views 
Upon  the  text  he  meant  to  use, 
The  deacon's  eyelids  would  refuse 

To  play  him  fair, 
And  in  a  sort  of  pious  snooze 

He'd  feign  a  prayer. 

The  parson  was  a  trifle  queer, 
One  of  those  men  who  volunteer 
To  preach  for  just  so  much  a  year 

And  one  donation  ; 
So  dry  no  doubt  they  justly  fear 

The  last  cremation. 

The  text  of'this  inglorious  Beecher 
Was  broad  enough  for  any  teacher  ;*— 


122      THE  DEACON  AND    THE  JUNE  BUG. 

How  God  created  every  creature  . 

And  creeping  thing. 
He  making  an  especial  feature 

Of  those  on  wing. 

When,  through  the  open  window,  flew 
A  June  bug,  just  as  if  he  knew 
No  other  bug  on  earth  would  do 

For  illustration, 
To  let  the  congregation  view 

God's  small  creation. 

Around  the  church  he  buzzed  and  whirred ; 
Along  the  ceiling  bumped  and  skirred ; 
The  congregation  caught  no  word 

The  parson  said  ; 
The  sleeping  deacon  never  stirred 

Nor  raised  his  head. 

The  sanctuary  etiquette 
Is  rigidly  observed,  and  yet 
How  small  a  matter  will  upset 

A  congregation  ! 
They  seem  to  be  so  glad  to  get 

Some  variation. 

The  bug  made  for  the  parson  next, 
Who  aimed  a  blow  ;  but,  being  vexed, 
Misjudged  the  bug  and  struck  the  text 

With  such  a  force 
He  lost  the  manuscript  annexed 

Of  his  discourse. 

The  deacon's  shiny  head  he  spied, 
And  lighting  there,  began  to  slide 


THE  DEACON  AND    THE  JUNE  BUG.      123 

Like  amateurs  who  cannot  guide 

The  roller  skate  ; 
So  large  a  bug  had  never  tried 

The  deacon's  pate. 

Each  time  the  deacon's  head  would  dip 
The  clumsy  bug  was  sure  to  slip — 
No  matter  how  his  beetleship 

Stuck  in  his  toes — 
Till,  sliding  down,  he  got  a  grip 

Upon  the  nose. 

The  sleeper  tilted  back  his  nose, 

The  small  boy  laughed,  you  may  suppose  ; 

The  fair  sex  only  grabbed  their  clothes 

And  moved  a  "  leetle." 
There's  not  much  choice  a  woman  shows 

'Twixt  mouse  and  beetle  ! 

His  temper  lost,  the  parson  spake  : — 
"  If  I  such  sleepy  sermons  make 
Not  e'en  a  June  bug  can  awake 

Good  Deacon  Gray, 
I'll  stop  until  the  sexton  take 

The  bug  away  !  " 

The  cross-eyed  sexton,  doomed  by  fate 
To  crooked  vision,  starting  straight 
On  purpose  to  annihilate 

The  hocus-pocus, 
In  his  excitement  didn't  wait 

To  get  the  focus, 

But  hit  the  deacon's  polished  crown 
So  hard  the  June  bug  tumbled  down  ! 


124  WITH   THE  BOYS. 

The  deacon  waking  with  a  frown 

At  his  arousers! 
Meanwhile  the  clumsy  beetle  brown 

Made  up  his  trousers  ! 

The  deacon,  terrified,  took  flight, 
Whereat  the  parson  called  outright : 
"  Lord,  send  thy  beetles  to  affright 

That  goodly  number 
Of  saints  who  will  the  Gospel  slight 

By  Sabbath  slumber  !  " 


WITH  THE  BOYS. 

"  TELL  me,  lady,  of  your  husband,  and  your  precious  chil 
dren  three  ! 

I've  come  hither  from  the  fairies,  to  inquire  how  they 
may  be. 

There  the  one  is  famed  for  valor ;  beautiful  the  others  are  ! 

Tell  me  of  them,  happy  mother,  since  I  come  so  very  far." 

"  Welcome,  welcome,  little  fairy !  must  I  tell  you  all  I 
know  ? 

Can  I  measure  all  my  pleasure  ?  Love  will  not  be 
measured  so ! 

Come  sometime  when  they  are  present :  come  and  see 
what  one  enjoys  ! 

Valor's  gone  to  gather  flowers  in  the  meadow  with  the 
boys." 

"  Tell  me,  lady,  of  your  husband  ;  are  your  children  just 
as  dear? 

Does  the  love  you  give  one  darling  with  another  inter 
fere  ?  " 


WITH    THE  BOYS.  12$ 

"  Love  is  like  the  rose's  perfume  :  Fragrance  plenty  and 

to  spare ! 
He  gets  most  who  most  inhaleth,  taking  not  another's 

share. 
Never  man  was  like  my  husband :  never  children  like  to 

mine. 
Love,  they  say,  was  born  in  heaven  ;  surely,  then,  it  is 

divine ! 
Each  one  tugging  at  my  heart-strings ;  each  one  all  my 

love  employs ! 
Valor  now   is  gone  a-fishing,  gone  a-fishing  with  the 

boys." 
v 

"  Tell  me,  lady,  of  your  husband  ;  for  you  see  I've  come 

again  ! 
Tell  me  of  those  precious  children  ;  they  must  now  be 

full-grown  men. 
Time,  the  bridegroom,  has  been  placing  orange  blossoms 

in  your  hair ! 
As  I  entered  at  the  gateway,  sang  you  not  a  martial 

air?" 
"  Strange  you  come,  my  little  fairy,  always  come  when 

they're  away ; 

For  I've  always  had  them  with  me,  ever  with  me  till  to 
day. 
Thus  I  sang  to  cheer  my  courage  :  Valor's  gone  where 

death  destroys  ! 
Husband's  gone  and  left   me   waiting ;  gone   to   battle 

with  the  boys." 

"  Tell  me,  lady,  of  the  loved  ones  ;  tell  me  of  your  soldiers 

four  ! 
We   have   heard   their  valor  spoken  ;  came   they   back 

when  war  was  o'er  ? 


\ 


126  SANTA    CLAUS. 


Is  the  woeful  artist  busy,  etching  sorrow  on  your  brow  ? 
Once  the  happy  wife  and  mother,  can  it  be  you're  neither 

now?  " 
"I'll  no  more  sing  martial  music!  Battle  marches  lose 

their  charms! 
Back  they  came  on  martial  shoulders,  with  their  comrades 

trailing  arms ! 

Can  I  sing  of  love  of  country,  that  has  buried  all  my  joys  ? 
Country  now  is  but  a  churchyard  where  he's  sleeping 

with  the  boys." 


SANTA  CLAUS. 

I  AM  that  mythical,  mystical  thing— 

The  little  ones'  monarch,  the  children's  king! 

The  mightiest  ruler  on  earth  am  I ; 

My  subjects  outnumber  the  stars  in  the  sky. 

I'm  ruler  by  right  of  the  children's  leave, 

And  visit  them  all  on  a  Christmas  Eve. 

My  soldiers  are  goblins  and  good  little  elves, 

With  nothing  to  conquer  but  conquer  themselves. 

I  call  and  invisible  myriads  come, 

At  first  with  a  faint,  indescribable  hum, 

Then  louder  and  louder ;  and,  chattering  fast, 

These  dear  little  goblins  go  scampering  past 

Till  off  in  the  distance,  the  sound  dies  away. 

Then  back  they  come  tumbling,  and  this  what  they  say: 

"  'An-a  'Au ! 

'An-ta  Cau ! 

San-ta  Claus ! 

San-ta  Claus ! 

San-ta  Claus ! 

'An-ta  Cau ! 

'An-a  'Au ! 


SANTA    CLAUS.  127 

I'm  king  of  the  Northland,  where,  locked  in  the  snow, 

Are  mysteries  arctic  the  world  may  not  know  ; 

White  squadrons  of  icebergs  stand  guard  evermore, 

And  ships  of  the  nations  ne'er  come  to  my  door  ! 

My  cities  are  built  without  labor  or  cost 

By  the  delicate  hand  of  the  architect,  Frost ; 

With  turreted  castles  on  mountains  of  ice, 

Like  the  palaces  gleaming  in  paradise  ; 

Whose  windows  aglow  make  the  universe  bright, 

Since  Aurora  has  touched  them  with  fingers  of  light. 

My  electrical  lamp  on  the  North  Pole  that  gleams, 

Is  the  bright  polar  star  of  the  mariner's  dreams. 

I  never  get  old,  though  my  locks  may  be  gray, 

For  a  year  unto  me  is  a  night  and  a  day. 

"  'An-a  'Au ! 

'An-ta  Can  ! 

San-ta  Claus ! 

San-ta  Claus ! 

San-ta  Claus ! 

'An-ta  Cau  ! 

'An-a  'Au  ! 

My  workshops  are  temples  more  grand  to  behold 
Than  diamond  peaks  in  a  sunset  of  gold  ; 
With  icicled  truss  like  the  rainbow  in  hue, 
Where  Hoarfrost  paints  nightly  his  fresco  anew. 
There  courtiers  are  craftsmen  and  artizans  peers, 
There  lords  are  mechanics  and  skilled  engineers  ; 
Each  deft  little  goblin  his  genius  employs 
Throughout  the  long  year  manufacturing  toys. 
Then  off  on  the  wings  of  the  frosty  night  air, 
Each  loaded  with  happiness,  all  he  can  bear ; 
That  little  ones  all  through  the  world  may  receive 
The  wealth  of  my  kingdom  on  Christmas  Eve  ! 


128  SANTA    CLAUS. 

On  the  snow  banks  of  heaven  I  come  in  my  sleigh, 
With  elves  and  the  goblins  to  herald  the  way  : — 
"  'An-a  'Au  ! 

'An-ta  Cau  ! 

San-ta  Claus  ! 

San-ta  Claus  ! 

San-ta  Claus  ! 

'An-ta  Cau  ! 

'An-a  'Au  ! !  " 

To  overgrown  children,  and  those  over  wise, 

I  seldom  appear  in  conventional  guise  ; 

But  send  forth  the  elves  and  the  fairies  who  leave 

Some  comfort  for  each  on  a  Christmas  Eve  : 

Compassion,  who  knocks  at  the  wealthy  man's  door, 

While  leaving  a  blessing,  gets  one  for  the  poor. 

Philanthropy  bows,  and  the  great  millionaire 

Returns  the  salute  with  a  courtesy  rare. 

Mercy  visits  the  sick,  Plenty  waits  upon  Want ; 

Hope  drinks  with  Despair  at  Utopia's  font. 

Sweet  Memory  comes  with  her  dreams  of  the  past, 

And  Joy  smiles  with  Sorrow  while  reveries  last ! 

All  these  are  invisible  angels  who  bring 

Peace  on  earth  and  good  will,  while  the  fairies  all  sing : — 

"  'An-a  'Au  ! 

'An-ta  Cau  ! 

San-ta  Claus  ! 

San-ta  Claus ! 

San-ta  Claus ! 

'An-ta  Cau ! 

'An-a  'Au ! " 


THE   SHERIFF  OF  CERRO-GORDO.         129 


THE   SHERIFF   OF    CERRO-GORDO. 

"  THE  meanest  way  a  man  can  ride 
Is  backward  up  a  mountain  side 
In  some  old  stage  like  this,"  I  cried, 

"  The  cold  winds  blowing  !  " 
"  Look  here  !  "  said  one,  "  you're  not  well  versed. 
The  sheriff's  ride  is  much  the  worst ; 
He  sends  a  party  down  feet  first 

The  way  he's  going  ! 

"  Speakin'  o'  sheriffs,  just  you  wait ! 
We've  got  the  best  one  in  the  State  ; 
You'll  find  him  round  early  and  late 

'Tendin'  to  biz. 

And  if  the  first  one  that  we  meet 
On  Cerro-Gordo's  single  street 
Is  not  the  sheriff,  then  I'll  treat — 

The  fault's  not  his." 

And  having  nothing  else  to  do 

I  listened  while  these  miners  few 

Told  their  long  yarns,  and  told  'em  through 

To  suit  their  notion. 
At  last  we  scaled  the  mountain  brown ; 
But  when  the  driver  set  us  clown 
We  saw  the  little  mining  town 

Was  all  commotion. 

Our  friend,  who  seemed  to  be  the  "  boss," 
Said  :— "  What's  the  matter  here,  old  hoss  ?  " 
The  one  addressed  seemed  at  a  loss 
To  tell  his  grief. 


13°         THE   SHERIFF  OF  CERRO-GORDO. 

But  raising  his  uncovered  head 
"  The  sheriff's  funeral !  "  he  said  ; 
"  For  know  ye,  '  boss,'  our  sheriff's  dead, 
Shot  by  a  thief !  " 

"  You've  got  the  thief  ?    Well,  he  can  wait 
Until  the  judge  can  fix  his  fate — 
I  mean  Judge  Lynch,  the  magistrate. 

The  self-same  rope 
That  lowers  the  sheriff's  coffin  down 
Shall  drag  this  villain  through  the  town 
And  hang  him  where  he'll  never  drown, 

High  up  the  slope  ! 

"  But  haint  ye  got  no  funeral  sense  ? 
What,  plant  a  pard,  and  send  him  hence 
Without  a  word  o'  reference 

From  his  last  place  ?  " 
"  We've  done  our  best,"  responded  they — 
"  For  preachers  never  come  this  way, 
And  none  of  us  knows  how  to  pray, 

Nor  e'en  say  grace  !  " 

"  Stranger,  look  here,  we're  in  a  fix  !          * 

We  knows  a  heap  o'  politics ; 

And  there's  no  rock  for  drills  and  picks 

That  we  haint  blasted  ! 
But  when  it  comes  to  Bible  truck 
We're  always  driftin'  out  o'  luck ; 
For  that's  a  ledge  we  never  struck  ! 

We're  flabbergasted ! 

"  We  knows  ye 're  smart !  you've  got  the  look 
O'  one  as  sometimes  reads  the  Book. 


THE   SHERIFF  OF  CERRO-GORDO.         131 

Don't  say  ye  never  undertook 

To  play  the  preacher  ; 
Ye  haint  got  any  critics  here  ; 
And  them  as  stands  around  the  bier 
Will  always  swear  ye  are  the  peer 

O'  brother  Beecher ! 

"  We're  glad  you're  not,  'twixt  you  and  me, 
For  ministers  are  apt  to  be 
Too  high  for  miners  such  as  we, 

Down  in  the  drift. 

Although  there's  lots  we  sinners  need, 
Our  hearts  are  bigger  than  our  creed  ; 
But  set  us  on  some  Christian  deed, 

We'll  work  our  shift  ! 

"  The  sheriff,  sir,  was  brave  and  square. 
The  very  fact  he  didn't  swear 
Would  sort  o'  recommend  him  there, 

If  you  would  say  it. 
Now  if  you'd  tell  the  Lord  a  few 
O'  his  good  p'ints  to  help  him  through, 
We'll  gladly  do  as  much  for  you. 

Expense — we'll  pay  it ! 

"  We  oft  agin'  the  Master's  will 
Go  underneath,  not  up  the  hill ; 
But  yet  the  ore  we  send  to  mill 

Is  not  rejected. 

With  tender  heart  and  honest  brow  ; 
What  though  he  died  to  stop  a  row, 
He  did  the  best  as  he  know'd  how  ! 

Is  more  expected  ? 


132          THE   SHERIFF  OF  CERRO-GORDO. 

"  Sometimes  in  business  one  descends 
To  what  his  conscience  ne'er  commends  ; 
A  man's  religion  oft  depends 

On  his  vocation. 
So  hoist  his  cage  a  little  slow  ; 
'Twould  disappoint  the  Lord,  ye  know, 
To  find  our  pard  too  far  below 

Your  commendation. 

"  I'll  tell  ye,  stranger,  just  you  say, 
He  warn't  a  Sunday  saint,  no  way  ! 
But  take  his  average,  day  by  day, 

He'd  clean  up  well. 

Some  low-grade  mines  pan  out  the  more  ; 
But  whether  on  the  other  shore 
They  judge  a  man  as  we  judge  ore 

Is  hard  to  tell. 

"  If  we  can  only  get  him  through 
The  pearly  gates  I  think  he'll  do  ! 
Of  course  he'll  be  a  trifle  new 

Among  the  sainted  ! 
At  first  he'll  find  the  seraphim 
A  little  offish — rather  prim  ; 
But  with  his  winnin'  ways,  poor  Jim 

Will  get  acquainted  ! 

"  Just  over  yonder  on  the  knoll 
They've  sunk  a  sort  of  prospect  hole  ; 
Now,  stranger,  please  to  take  control 

O'  this  poor  clay." 
Then  he  and  I  walked  on  ahead, 
And  sorrow  followed  with  the  dead, 
While  Heaven  its  benediction  shed 

Of  closing  day. 


THE   SHERIFF  OF   CERRO-GORDO.         133 

They  listened  all  with  bated  breath  ; 
I  told  them  what  the  good  Lord  saith — 
Man  must  in  life  prepare  for  death! 

Their  hearts  seemed  riven. 
I  said — yet  knew  no  reason  why — 
"  Your  sheriff  has  gone  up  on  high  ! " 
Man  never  heard  more  grateful  sigh 

For  comfort  given. 

I'd  got  him  up,  but  grew  perplexed 
To  know  what  course  I'd  follow  next  • 
Tried  to  recall  some  pleasing  text 

Would  keep  him  there. 
I'd  leave  him  at  the  throne  of  grace, 
E'en  if  I  knew  he  ran  a  race 
Hurrying  to  the  other  place 

Of  dark  despair. 

I  couldn't  send  him  down  to  dwell — 
To  speak  the  truth,  I  couldn't  tell 
If  there  was  such  a  place  as  hell ; 

I'd  never  been  there ! 
Said  : — "  At  the  golden  gate  there  stood 
Our  Lord,  so  merciful  and  good, 
That  when  the  sheriff  came,  he  would 

No  doubt,  get  in  there !  " 

Ah,  who  would  not  some  comfort  say 
Where  faith  and  hope  had  lost  their  way  ? 
And  when  I  said,  "  Now  let  us  pray  !  " 

They  soon  were  kneeling : 
Down  on  both  knees,  with  hat  in  hand  ! 
Down  on  both  knees  in  dirt  and  sand ! 
While  none  but  God  could  understand 

How  deep  their  feeling. 


134  "  OH,    YEH-  YUS  !  " 

For  not  a  single  word  was  said, 
But  in  the  presence  of  the  dead 
Each  bowed  with  his  uncovered  head 

In  dumb  devotion — 
At  such  a  time  speech  must  not  rob 
The  heaving  breast  of  one  faint  sob — 
While  prayers  went  up  with  every  throb 

Of  their  emotion. 

God  listens  best  when  silence  prays  ! 
For  measured  word  and  rounded  phrase 
Oft  but  the  selfish  pride  betrays 

Of  creed  or  schism. 

While  melting  prayers  dropped  from  their  eyes 
The  sleeping  sheriff  to  baptize, 
Think  you  kind  Heaven  would  despise 

Such  soul  baptism  ? 


"  OH,  YEH-YUS  !  " 

SHE  was  a  downright  Yankee  gal, 
And  always  bore  the  nickname  "  Sal  " ; 
Her  speech  was  ungrammatical — 

In  doubt  she  said  :  "  I gue-us  f  " 
But  when  she  was  "  dead  sartin  sure," 
She  was  a  trifle  less  obscure, 
And  like  the  timid  amateur 

She  blurted  out :  "  Oh,yeh-yus!" 

She  had  a  beau,  a  bashful  swain, 
As  odd  as  she  and  quite  as  plain, 
And  born,  like  her,  way  down  in  Maine, 
Where  people  say  :  "  I  gue-us  !  " 


4 '  OH,    YEH-  YUS!"  1 3  5 

He'd  courted  her  for  many  a  day  ; 
It  mattered  not  how  late  he'd  stay, 
To  what  he'd  ask  she'd  always  say — 
In  Yankee  drawl :  "  Oh,yeh-yus  !  " 

One  night,  perplexed,  he  said  :  "  I  swon, 
Neow  tell  me,  Sal,  neow  jist  fer  fun, 
Would  yeou  git  mad  if  I  took  one  ?  " 

She  simpered  out  :  "  I  gue-us!" 
To  take  a  kiss  he  knew  not  how, 
But  held  her  as  he  would  a  pleow  ; 
He  sighed  :  "  And  shall  I  take  it  neow?  " 

She  stammered  out :  "  Oh,yeh-yus!  " 

H'd  never  kissed  a  gal  afore, 

And  thought  he'd  like  to  try  it  o'er — 

And  would  she  give  him  jist  one  more  ? 

She  giggled  out :  "I gue-us  !  " 
This  time  he  kissed  her  as  he  should, 
By  taking  all  the  time  he  could. 
And  when  he  asked  her  if  'twas  good, 

She  smacked  her  lips :  "  Oh,yeh-yus  f  " 

"  When  gath'rin'  fruit  this  comin'  fall, 
Might  I  not  pick  them  kisses  all  ?  " 
She  hid  her  face  beneath  her  shawl, 

And  snickered  out  "  I  gue-us  !  " 
He  sort  o'  kind  o'  kicked  her  shoe — 
"  I've  had  a  sneakin'  love  for  yeou, 
And  will  ye  have  me,  Sal,  fer  true  ?  " 

She  blurted  out :  "  Oh,yeh-yus  !  " 

At  this  he  grew  a  trifle  bolder, 
And  laid  her  head  upon  his  shoulder — 
"  Say  !  have  me  neow  or  when  I'm  older  ?  " 
She  twittered  out :  "  I  gue-us  !  " 


136  UNCLE  EZRA'S  STORY. 

"  I've  sparked  ye  since  I  deon't  know  when, 
But  love  ye  more'n  I  loved  ye  then  ; 
Neow  will  ye  have  me  ?     Say't  again  !  " 
And  so  she  did  :  "  Ok, yeh-yus  !" 

At  length  they  sought  the  country  squire, 
Who  saw  too  plainly  their  desire, 
Yet  thought  it  best  he  should  inquire  ! 

Said  she  :  "  Neow  can't  ytgue-us?  " 
The  judge,  to  joking  not  averse, 
Said  :  "  Take  this  man  of  meager  purse 
For  '  better,'  since  you  can't  do  '  worse  '  ?  " 

She  busted  out :  "  Oh,  yeh-yus  !  " 


UNCLE  EZRA'S  STORY. 

SOMEHOW  these  memorial  meetin's 
Recall  the  first  days  of  the  war, 
When  men  were  enlistin'  for  soldiers, 
Not  knowin'  just  what  it  was  for. 
My  son  Job  and  I  were  out  plowin'  ; 
A  horseman  came  hurryin'  by, 
A-shoutin' :  "  They've  fired  upon  Sumter  ! 
The  war  cloud  is  dark  in  the  sky  !  " 

"  Americans  fightin'  each  other  ?" 
Said  I  to  the  man  on  the  nag — 
"  A-blazin'  away  at  the  Eagle  ; 
A-tryin'  to  tear  down  the  flag  ?  " 
I  started  for  town  the  next  minute 
Leavin'  Job  to  manage  the  plow  ; 
By  some  means  he  got  there  before  me, 
I  never  exactly  knew  how  ! 


UNCLE   EZRA'S  STORY.  137 

The  people  were  wild  with  excitement, 
I  reckoned  the  town  had  gone  daft ; 
Mechanics  and  merchants  had  gathered, 
And  some  with  the  tools  of  their  craft. 
A  flag  was  spread  out  on  the  table 
Which  held  the  mute  paper  and  pen, 
And  speakers  were  tellin'  the  people 
Why  Lincoln  was  callin'  for  men. 

Then  hushin'  that  motley  assemblage, 

They  called  for  the  first  volunteer  ! 

When  sign-painter  Williams  stepped  forward 

That  silence  burst  into  a  cheer  ; 

And  takin'  the  finest  of  brushes, 

Up  there  at  the  head  of  the  list 

He  marked  down  his  name  like  an  artist, 

With  never  a  shake  of  the  wrist ! 

When  next  came  the  pride  of  the  village, 
The  son  of  the  poor  Widow  Mills, 
You  heard  but  the  sobbin'  o'  women 
And  the  scratchin'  o'  one  o'  the  quills. 
This  deed  of  heroic  devotion 
We  couldn't  profane  with  our  cheers — 
Our  voices  were  choked  with  emotion 
That  softly  distilled  into  tears. 

In  writin'  his  name  he'd  forgotten 
The  dot  that  goes  over  the  "  i  " — 
Now,  John  had  been  layin'  down  carpets, 
Supportin'  his  mother  thereby. 
The  man  at  the  table  recalled  him, 
And  John,  quickly  turnin'  about, 
A  carpet-tack  took  from  his  pocket 
And  stuck  where  the  dot  was  left  out. 


I38  UNCLE  EZRA'S  STORY. 

And  drivin'  it  into  the  table, 

Right  down  through  the  paper  and  all, 

He  spoke  with  a  voice  full  o'  feelin' — 

The  silence  of  death  in  the  hall  :— 

"  I  mean  that  my  name  shall  remain  there 

Until  the  rebellion  is  done  ; 

Provided  you'll  care  for  my  mother, 

Whose  only  support  is  her  son  ! 

"  If  the  God  of  all  battles  decrees  it 
Your  soldier  shall  never  come  back, 
Just  say  that  he  died  for  his  country, 
And  dotted  his  '  i '  with  a  tack  !  " 
Then  came  such  a  rush  for  that  table 
As  never  can  happen  again  ; 
The  names  had  quite  covered  the  paper 
'Fore  I  could  get  hold  of  the  pen. 

I  saw  by  a  glance  up  the  column 
My  Job's  name  was  down  number  three  ; 
And  somehow  the  tears  kept  a-comin' 
And  bothered  so  I  couldn't  see  ! 
And,  takin'  the  pen  from  my  fingers, 
Job  tightened  his  grip  on  my  arm  : — 
"Say,  father,  I'll  tend  to  the  nation 
While  you  stay  and  tend  to  the  farm  !  " 

I  warn't  in  the  right  mood  for  talkin', 
I'd  thinkin'  to  do  of  my  own  ; 
And  'fore  I  was  rightly  adjusted, 
Was  walkin'  home  'cross  lots  alone  ! 
My  heart  and  my  brain  were  disputin', 
While  neither  the  argument  won  : — 
"  Does  a  father  think  more  of  his  country, 
Or  does  he  think  more  of  his  son  ?  " 


UNCLE  EZRA'S   STORY.  139 

When  Job  had  come  home  in  the  evenin' 
Dressed  up  in  his  new  soldier  suit, 
His  mother  at  first  didn't  know  him, 
And  kept  on  a-parin'  the  fruit. 
Ere  Job  told  the  half  of  his  story 
She  fell  on  his  blue-coated  breast ; 
Her  face,  turnin'  white  as  her  apron, 
Gave  proof  she  mistrusted  the  rest. 

On  the  neck  of  her  boy  she  was  sobbin' 
Before  I  could  get  out  of  doors— 
For  somehow  I  chanced  to  remember 
I  hadn't  quite  finished  the  chores. 
When  Job  came  along  I  suggested 
He  bring  out  his  old  milkin'  stool, 
He  replied  : — "  I  belong  to  the  nation, 
I'm  now  under  government  rule  ! 

"  A  soldier,"  he  said,  "  was  intended 
To  settle  up  Uncle  Sam's  rows, 
And  nothin'  could  be  more  debasin' 
Than  a  corporal  milkin'  the  cows  ! 
There'd  soon  be  a  row  in  the  barnyard — 
A  cow  kickin'  over  the  pail ; 
A  soldier  resentin'  an  insult — 
A  slap  from  a  brindle  cow's  tail !  " 

"  Wai,  Job,  I  don't  think  I  need  worry, 
You'll  live  through  the  present  campaign  ; 
Their  bullets  will  never  disturb  ye— 
Tis  always  the  good  boy  that's  slain  !  " 
Now,  "  Job,"  was  a  sort  of  a  nickname, 
Inherited  when  but  a  lad, 
Not  so  much  on  account  of  his  patience, 
Perhaps,  as  the  boils  which  he  had. 


140  UNCLE  EZRA'S  STORY. 

My  Job  was  cut  out  for  a  soldier- 
Farm  labor  he  always  would  shirk  ; 
He'd  plenty  of  courage  for  fightin', 
But  never  much  courage  for  work. 
His  schoolin'  was  never  quite  finished, 
For  reasons  durned  easy  to  guess  ; 
The  teacher  once  sot  in  to  thrash  him, 
Which  didn't  turn  out  a  success. 

The  day  when  our  loved  ones  departed 

Brave  mothers  were  stiflin'  their  fears ; 

Some  handkerchiefs  wavin'  "  God  speed  you  !  " 

But  most  of  'em  wipin'  up  tears. 

They  went  to  the  forefront  of  battle  ; 

They  went  there  "  determined  to  stay !  " 

Ah  !  some  spoke  more  truth  than  they  reckoned, 

And  haven't  come  back  to  this  day. 

We  nervously  scanned  eveiy  paper  ; 

The  list  of  the  wounded  we  read ; 

Hardly  darin'  to  glance  down  the  column 

That  told  us  the  names  of  the  dead. 

Those  months  seemed  like  years  to  the  anxious 

While  prayin'  the  war  might  be  done, 

Not  thinkin'  their  prayers,  to  be  answered, 

Must  sacrifice  somebody's  son  ! 

Then  lots  of  'em  came  back  disabled, 
And  some  from  the  prisoner's  tomb, 
With  not  enough  left  for  a  soldier 
And  hardly  enough  to  send  home. 
They  told  us  our  Job  was  promoted, 
We  didn't  much  care  what  it  meant ; 
So  long  as  our  boy  was  still  livin', 
The  good  wife  and  I  were  content. 


UNCLE  EZRA'S  STORY.  14* 

The  train  with  torn  battle  flags  wavin' 
Returned  the  old  regiment  home, 
As  ships  bring  to  port,  from  a  rescue, 
Survivors  picked  out  of  the  foam. 
Somehow  the  rejoicin'  got  smothered 
At  hearin'  the  heart-broken  weep — 
The  boys  left  so  many  behind  'em 
Down  under  the  daisies  asleep  ! 

Wife  stood  at  the  end  of  the  depot 

Embracin'  an  officer,  tall — 

I  wouldn't  have  been  over-flurried 

At  seein'  her  huggin'  'em  all. 

I  was  searchin'  those  dusty  blue  blouses, 

And  scannin'  each  battle-torn  robe ; 

Beginnin'  to  feel  rather  flurried 

For  fear  they'd  forgotten  my  Job. 

"  Hello,  Uncle  Ezra  !  "  said  Johnny  ; 

"  You'll  find  the  young  colonel  up  there  !  " 

"  Drat  the  colonel !  "  said  I,  gettin'  worried, 

"  I'm  lookin'  for  my  son  and  heir  !  " 

"  Job's  the  colonel !  "  said  Johnny.     That  flopped 

me. 

I  sat  on  the  steps  and  let  go — 
To  think  of  his  bein'  a  colonel, 
Without  even  lettin'  us  know ! 


142  A    WOMAN'S  POCKET. 


A  WOMAN'S  POCKET. 

JUST  where  it  is  one  never  knows, 
Beneath  the  folds  it  never  shows  ; 
Above,  below,  before,  behind — 
A  puzzle  to  the  human  mind — 
Man  never  knows  his  helplessness 
Until  he  tries  in  woman's  dress 
To  find  the  pocket. 

'Twas  sooner  found  in  early  days 
Before  they  had  the  polonaise  ; 
Dressmakers  now  are  sore  perplexed 
To  know  just  where  to  hide  it  next ! 
In  these  hard  times  of  scanty  purse 
'Tis  hard  to  find  the  dress— but  worse 
To  find  the  pocket. 

A  fact  by  husbands  too  well  known — 
She  finds  his  pocket— while  her  own 
Is  so  concealed  about  her  dress 
It  lost,  long  since,  its  usefulness. 
She  bears  her  purse  now  in  her  hand 
Because  she  never  can  command 
That  hidden  pocket. 

You  wonder  why  a  coquette's  heart 
Is  never  pierced  by  Cupid's  dart  ; 
'Tis  not  her  fault,  you  must  admit, 
But  Cupid's  fault  not  finding  it. 
Love,  being  blind,  cannot  perceive 
She  wears  her  heart  not  on  her  sleeve 
But  in  her  pocket. 


A    WOMAN'S  POCKET. 


He's  new  to  matrimonial  cares 
Who  volunteers  to  run  upstairs 
And  fetch  a  trifle,  more  or  less, 
His  bride  left  in  some  other  dress  ! 
Believe  me,  nature  ne'er  designed 
That  mortal  man  should  ever  find 
A  woman's  pocket. 

He  opens  wide  the  closet  door, 
Each  hook  so  full  of  robes  galore, 
That  ere  he  finds  the  proper  gown 
Each  dress  in  turn  has  tumbled  down. 
Into  the  placket  hole  at  back 
He  thrusts  his  arm,  alas  !  alack  ! 
Tis  not  a  pocket. 

He  drags  it  out  in  his  despair 
And  spreads  it  o'er  an  easy-chair — 
Lifts  up  each  tuck  and  fold  and  seam, 
Walks  round  and  round  as  in  a  dream. 
He's  much  too  good  a  man  to  swear, 
Yet  undevoutly  wonders  where 
She  keeps  that  pocket. 


He  grabs  it  up  and  rushing  down 
Upon  her  lap  tosses  the  gown  : 
"  In  truth  you  are  the  better  half 

If  you  can  find Why  do  you  laugh  ? 

"  I  laugh  because  you've  brought  me  here 
A  petticoat,  my  hubby  dear, 
To  find  a  pocket." 

Man  finds  a  score  with  equal  grace  ; 
They're  always  in  the  self-same  place ; 


144    .  THE  CHURCH  OF  HAMILTON  SQUARE. 

But  woman,  since  the  world  begun, 
Could  never  locate  even  one. 
We'll  not  except  good  mother  Eve, 
Who  had  no  chance,  as  you  perceive, 
To  wear  a  pocket. 

THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  OF  HAMILTON 
SQUARE. 

THE  poor  man  paused,  for  the  church  was  new ; 
They  put  him  back  in  the  hindmost  pew 
Because  his  raiment  was  somewhat  old, 
For  there  they  worshiped  not  God,  but  Gold. 
Where  Christians  bow  in  jewels  and  lace 
The  Lord  and  beggar  seem  out  of  place ; 
For  pride  and  vanity  worship  there — 
Not  so  in  the  Church  of  Hamilton  Square. 

The  beggar  sighed  as  he  bowed  his  head, 
"  If  faith  is  heavenly  wealth,"  he  said, 
"The  poor  are  rich  and  the  rich  are  poor  !  " 
And  out  he  went  through  the  great  church  door. 
"  I'll  seek  a  certain  chapel  I  know 
Where  all  are  welcome,  the  high  and  low; 
For  pride  sits  not  with  a  scornful  air 
In  the  little  Church  of  Hamilton  Square. 

"  They  worship  God  in  the  good  old  way 
With  humble  heart,  and  they  seem  to  say : — 
'  Thrice  welcome,  stranger,  whoe'er  you  be, 
This  house  is  God's  and  the  seats  are  free  ! ' 
And  while  you  sit  in  the  Sabbath  calm, 
And  hear  the  word  and  join  in  the  psalm, 
It  seems  just  like  a  family  prayer 
In  the  little  Church  of  Hamilton  Square." 


BARNYARD  MELODIES.  145 


BARNYARD    MELODIES. 

DELIGHTFUL  change  from  the  town's  abode, 
Is  a  charming  drive  on  a  country  road  ; 
From  the  stifling  air  of  the  city's  street 
To  the  perfumed  breath  of  the  daisies  sweet. 

You  halt  your  team  at  the  farmer's  gate, 
He  comes  to  open  it ;  while  you  wait, 
Old  Rover  comes  bounding  down  the  hill 
In  spite  of  his  master's  "  Rover,  be  still !  " — 
His  barking  shakes  his  thick  shaggy  coat, 
While  these  notes  roll  from  his  deep-toned  throat 

Bow-wow-wow-wow  ! 

Bow -wow -wow -wow  / 

On  either  side  the  fat  hens  take  leg, 
While  others  announce  a  new-laid  egg  : — 

Cut- cut-cut — cu-da-cut  ! 

Cut-cut-cut — cu-da-cut ! 
The  rooster,  shrill  spokesman  for  the  brood, 
Says — one-third  polite  and  two-thirds  rude  : — 

I'm  Cock-a-doodle-do  ! 

And  who  the  deuce  are  you  ? 

The  ducks  and  drakes  have  the  self-same  quack — 
They're  just  alike,  save  the  curl  at  the  back  ; 
For  "  divers  "  reasons  they  go  to  the  pond, 
For  "  sun-dry  "  reasons  they  strut  around, 
And  waddle  off  like  sailors  a-spreeing. 
And  talk  like  doctors  when  disagreeing  : — 

Quack-quack-quack-quack  ! 

Quack-quack-quack-quack  ! 


I46  BARNYARD  MELODIES. 

The  turkey  gobbler  comes  charging  round 
With  ruffled  temper  and  wings  aground ; 
For  fear  he  might  his  foe  overtake 
He  gives  alarm,  then  puts  on  the  brake : — 

Plip-gobble-obble-obble  ! 

Plip-gobble-obble-obble  ! 

The  hog  in  the  trough,  with  dirty  feet ; 
The  more  you  give  him  the  more  he'll  eat ; 
This  gourmand  finds  nothing  to  desire 
When  half  asleep  in  the  half-dried  mire  : — 

R-r-r-o  ugh-ff  ! — r-r-r-ough-ff  ! 

R-r-r-ongh-jff 7 — r-r-r-ough-jf  / 
The  sow  is  teaching  her  litter  of  shoats 
To  speak  hog-Latin  with  guttural  throats  : — 

Ugh-ee  !  ugk-ee  !  ugh-ee  !  ugh-ee  ! 

Ugh-ee  !  ugh-ee!  ugh-ee!  ugh-ee! 

The  calf  and  lamb  at  distance  dispute 
The  right  of  bin  with  the  horned  brute  ; 
Their  blat  and  bleat  the  hard-headed  scorns 
Where  right  and  wrong's  a  question  of  horns 

Bah  !  bah  !—Beh-eh-eh-eh-eh  ! 

Bah  !  bah  !—Beh-eh-eh-eh-eh  ! 

The  barefoot  boy,  from  the  tender  rows 
Of  corn,  is  driving  the  "  pesky  crows  "; 
He  stubs  his  toe,  and  they  mock  his  pain  : — 
He  throws  a  stone  and  they're  off  again  : — 

Caw-caiu-caiv-caw  ! 

Caw-caw-caiv-caw  ! 

From  out  the  meadow  the  lowing  kine, 
Treading  the  buttercups,  come  in  line  ; 


BARNYARD  MELODIES.  147 

Come  with  their  soft  tread  through  the  grass, 
Answer  the  call  of  the  farmer's  lass  : — 

Co  boss  !  co'boss  !  co'boss  ! — moo  ! 

Co1  boss  !  co'boss  !  co'boss  ! — moo  / 

They  stand  there  meekly  chewing  their  cud, 
Whacking  their  sides  with  a  sudden  thud 
To  battle  the  flies  ;  the  swinging  tail 
Meanwhile  drops  down  in  the  frothing  pail ; 

So  boss  !  so  boss  !  so  !  so  !  so  ! 

Stand  still,  Br indie !  Heist!  so!  so! 

The  king  of  the  herd,  imprisoned  afield, 
Is  hooking  the  bars,  quite  loath  to  yield  ! 
He  paws  up  the  earth  with  muscles  tense, 
And  then,  pacing  down  the  long  line-fence, 
On  neighboring  chief,  with  haughty  mien 
And  challenge  hoarse,  he  vents  his  spleen  : — 

Mouu-ow-ush  !  mow-ow-ush  ! 

M oiv -oo  !  mow-oo  !  ow-ush  / 


The  mare,  knee  deep  in  the  clover  bed, 
Caresses  her  nursing  thoroughbred  ; 
The  well-fed  oxen  in  stanchions  meek ; 
The  plowboy  grooming  his  horses  sleek  ; 
They  whisk  their  tails  and  nip  at  his  back, 
While  down  the  curry-comb  comes  a-whack ; 

"  Whoa,  Dan  f  you  rascal,  stand  still ! 

Cxh  !  cxh  f  cxh  !  Gee  up  thar,  Bill!  " 

The  barn  well  filled  with  the  bursting  sheaves  ; 
The  swallows  twittering  'neath  the  eaves 


148  JOHN  MA  YNARD. 

Their  song  of  plenty.     The  farmer's  heart 
And  barn  are  full ! — while  he  walks  apart 
And  chants  his  thankfulness  as  he  goes 
By  whistling  the  only  tune  he  knows  : — 
"  Yankee  Doodle  !  " 


JOHN  MAYNARD. 

JOHN  MAYNARD  stood  at  the  steamer's  wheel ; 

A  common  sailor,  but  true  as  steel. 

Looking  for  heroes,  you'd  pass  him  by 

Unless  you  happened  to  catch  his  eye, 

That  lens  of  the  soul  where  one  looks  through 

To  find  out  whether  a  man  will  do 

To  leave  at  a  post  when  danger  is  rife, 

And  stand  there  firm  at  the  cost  of  his  life — 

And  then  you'd  agree,  with  Captain  "  Dan," 

That  rough  John  Maynard  was  just  the  man. 

Lake  Erie  was  calm,  the  sky  was  clear  ; 
The  steamer  sped,  as  the  fallow  deer 
Darts  through  the  grass  on  the  prairie  old  ; 
'Twas  life  on  deck,  but  death  in  the  hold. 
Little  the  joyful  passengers  knew, 
As  song  rolled  out  o'er  the  water  blue, 
The  echo  sent  back  from  the  distant  shore 
Was  Grief's  applause  and  Death's  encore. 

The  captain  stood  by  the  engineer ; 

His  face  turned  pale  with  a  sudden  fear  : 

A  burst  of  smoke — no  need  to  inquire, 

That  crackling  noise — "  The  steamer's  on  fire  !  " 


JOHN  MA  YNARD.  *49 

Full  quickly  now  his  firm  orders  came  : 
"  Do  all  you  can  to  keep  back  the  flame  ! 
Give  all  the  steam  the  engine  will  stand ; 
Our  only  hope  is  to  make  for  land. 

"John    Maynard!"    "Aye,    aye!"    "To    the    nearest 

shore  ! 

Stand  firm  to  the  wheel  as  never  before ! 
The  steamer's  afire  !     On  you  I  depend 
To  save  these  souls  !— Will  you  stand  to  the  end  ?  " 
"  Aye,  aye,  sir  f  "    John's  words  were  ever  few — 
'Tis  always  the  case  with  men  that  do. 

And  still  the  captain's  commands  came  loud, 
And  rang  out  clear  o'er  the  wailing  crowd  : 
"  All  passengers  out  on  the  for'a'd  deck ! 
We'll  do  our  best  to  keep  it  in  check — 
Shut  passages  up,  all  hatchways  close ; 
Stand  by,  my  good  men,  and  man  the  hose !  " 

The  passengers  rush  to  the  figure-head, 
As  if  in  flight  from  a  terrible  dread- 
Close  crowding  up  where  there's  little  room, 
Clinging  despair  on  the  neck  of  doom. 

All  hands  have  come  up  from  down  below ; 
Their  battle  short,  a  moment  or  so. 
"  The  engine  runs  without  engineer," 
The  captain  said,  "  but  someone  must  steer  : 
Will  you  stand  firm  ?  "    John  made  no  reply : 
He  would  not  speak  without  his  "  Aye,  aye  !  " 
He  thought  of  home  that  held  all  his  joy ; 
His  fond  wife  holding  her  bright-eyed  boy, 
With  fat  arms  clinging  to  mother's  neck, 
But  ready  for  romps  at  his  father's  beck ; 


I5°  JOHN  MAYNARD. 

Two  loves  outweighing  the  world  to  him  : — 
What  need  to  die  ?     'Twas  an  easy  swim  ; 
He'd  not  be  missed  in  the  thick,  black  smoke  ;— 
His  hand  e'en  slipped  from  the  tiller  spoke  : 
"  Shall  I  stand  here  and  give  up  my  life, 
And  leave  to  want  my  baby  and  wife — 
Far  worse  to  me  than  to  stand  and  burn  ?  " 
But  some  voice  whispered  :     "  'Tis  now  your  turn. 
Through  rifts  in  the  smoke  those  faces  plead  ; 
He  thinks  of  Him  once  willing  to  bleed  ; 
The  voice  of  the  captain  pleads  once  more : 
"  Will  you  stand  firm  till  we  reach  the  shore  ?  " 
All,  breathless,  wait  his  final  reply- 
It  comes  at  last,  sailor-like :  "  Aye,  aye  !  " 

"  Be  calm  ! "  said  the  captain,  "  wail  no  more  ! 
A  hero  stands  there — yonder  the  shore  ; 
Have  faith  in  him,  though  you  can't  see  through 
The  thick,  black  smoke,  yet  he'll  die  ior  you  f 
There's  no  greater  faith  beneath  the  sky 
Than  that  I  place  in  Maynard's  'Aye,  aye.'  " 

Beneath  the  deck  'twas  a  fiery  maze, 
Like  some  great  furnace  all  ablaze ; 
While  hot  smoke  rose  in  its  awful  gloom, 
As  if  to  conceal  that  pilot's  doom. 
With  one  spot  free  where  passengers  stand, 
The  fiery  demon  rushes  for  land. 

The  pilot  knows  his  moments  are  few : — 

The  smoke  gives  way,  as  the  flames  burst  through 

The  upper  deck  and  go  roaring  aft, 

Then  slowly  creep  up  against  the  draft, 

Like  unbent  sails  crawling  up  the  mast, 

Till  pilot  house  is  enveloped  at  last. 


MURPHY'S  DONKEY.  151 

The  wheel  and  engine  stop  at  the  shore, 
That  hero's  "  Aye,  aye  !  " — hushed  evermore. 

He  stood  there  firm  at  the  heated  wheel ; 
He  stood  there  firm  till  he  felt  the  keel 
Grate  in  the  sand  of  the  shallow  shore — 
Till  human  flesh  could  stand  it  no  more; 
And  falling  down  on  his  funeral  pyre, 
His  soul  went  up  in  chariot  of  fire. 
Jehovah,  the  Captain,  called  him  on  high  ;— 
John  Maynard  obeyed  with  his  last  "  Aye,  aye  !  " 


MURPHY'S  DONKEY. 

MURPHY  was  an  old-time  miner, 
Fitted  by  the  Great  Designer 
Just  to  prospect  for  the  shiner, 

In  and  out  the  mining  camp. 
Home  was  where  he  might  be  staying, 
On  the  mountain  always  straying, 
With  his  donkey  always  braying, 

Sole  companion  of  the  tramp  : 
"  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  ! " 

Murphy  got  by  worthless  pledges 
Grub  to  climb  the  mountain  edges, 
Sample  all  the  curious  ledges, 

In  the  hope  of  finding  ore. 
Strolling  into  camp  one  morning, 
Petered  out— died  without  warning, 
Left  no  friend  to  do  the  mourning, 

Save  the  donkey  at  the  door  : 
"  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  " 


15 2  MURPHY'S  DONKEY. 

They  could  neither  bend  nor  fold  him, 
Hence  no  box  they  had  would  hold  him, 
In  his  blankets  then  they  rolled  him, 

Boards  were  scarce  in  early  days. 
O'er  the  grave  where  he  was  planted, 
Room  was  to  the  donkey  granted, 
Who  the  service  softly  chanted 

In  pathetic  roundelays  : 
"  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  " 

Though  the  rites  were  not  extensive, 
Mountain  graves  are  quite  expensive  ; 
No  one  deemed  it  reprehensive 

When  the  auctioneer  in  town 
Put  the  donkey  up  to  sell  him, 
Bray  he  would,  no  one  could  quell  him, 
Nor  the  auctioneer  excel  him — 

"  Who  will  bid  ?     I'll  knock  him  down  !  " 
"  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  ! " 

Spite  of  all  his  persevering, 
Useless  was  his  auctioneering, 
With  that  donkey  interfering, 

So  he  raffled  off  the  brute  ; 
Turner  cried,  "  As  I'm  a  sinner, 
All  the  sixes— I'm  the  winner  ! 
But  if  e'er  I  hear  him  whinner 

Murphy's  name,  I'm  bound  to  shoot." 
"  Murphy  !   Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy ! " 

Homeward  Turner  tried  to  lead  him, 
But  the  donkey  wouldn't  heed  him, 
Turner  thought  he  didn't  need  him, 
Since  he  wasn't  in  the  mood  ; 


MURPHY'S  DONKEY.  153 

Bade  him  go,  and  die  a-braying  ; 
Off  he  went,  his  long  ears  swaying, 
Thanks  on  his  long  features  playing, 

Smiling  back  his  gratitude  : 
"  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Mu Mu ! !  " 

Always  for  his  master  crying, 
Ears  attentive,  eyes  espying, 
While  the  echo  kept  replying, 

Like  some  burro  far  away ; 
Thinking  he  had  found  another, 
Up  one  canyon,  then  down  t'other, 
Looking  for  that  donkey  brother, 

Chased  the  echo  of  his  bray  : 
"  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  " 

Night  and  day  he  kept  on  going, 
Thinner,  weaker,  fainter  growing, 
Till  the  crows,  by  instinct  knowing, 

Followed  on  where  he  might  guide. 
Vainly  calling  the  departed, 
Finding  no  companion,  darted 
O'er  the  cliff,  clean  broken-hearted, 

Down  the  abyss  to  suicide 
"  Murphy  !  Murphy  !  Mu ! !  " 

Those  who  witnessed  the  disaster 
Said  he  never  traveled  faster, 
Hoped  that  he  had  found  his  master, 

But  their  hopes  were  turned  to  gall ; 
For  they  saw  his  ghost  still  straying 
On  the  mountain,  nightly  braying, 
With  its  ghostly  echo  saying : 

Suicides  are  donkeys  all. 
"  Murphy  !  Murphy !  [echo]  Mur-ee  !  Mur-ee  !  " 


154  THE    TWO  KNIGHTS. 


THE  TWO  KNIGHTS. 

IN  ancient  days,  when  valor  marked  the  man 
And  prowess  made  him  master  of  his  clan, 

When  might  was  right,  and  polished  steel  was  law, 
A  famous  knight  a  wondrous  vision  saw  : — 

Returning  from  the  tournament,  he  lay 
Upon  the  barren  moor  at  close  of  day. 

His  mighty  lance,  that  chivalry  defied, 
And  all  his  glittering  armor  laid  aside, 

He  seemed  by  nature  formed  to  master  men ; 
Having  the  weight  of  two,  the  strength  of  ten. 

His  battle-ax,  no  other  knight  could  swing, 
To  him  was  light  as  scepter  of  a  king. 

He  held  the  list,  so  great  a  knight  was  he, 
Against  the  pride  and  flower  of  chivalry  ; 

And  oft  the  tide  of  battle  to  restrain 

Stalked  like  the  sickler  through  the  harvest  grain. 

Falling  asleep,  while  musing  on  his  fame, 

He  dreamed  a  stranger  knight  unarmored  came, 

And  with  a  slender  rapier  touched  his  breast ; 
The  startled  knight  the  stranger  thus  addressed  : 

"  And' who  art  thou— or  knight  or  page  or  squire- 
That  com'st  to  me  in  such  a  strange  attire  ?  " 

To  whom  the  stranger  said  :  "  Behold  in  me 
The  knighthood  of  the  Nineteenth  Century." 


THE    TWO  KNIGHTS.  155 

"  What  mail  hast  thou  beneath  thy  robes  concealed 
That  makes  thee  bold  ?     Thou  hast  nor  arms  nor  shield  ! 

"  Quaint  knight,  to  challenge  me  thou  dost  presume, 
With  nothing  knightly  'bout  thee,  save  thy  plume  ; 

"  The  weight  of  my  huge  sword  would  cleave  in  twain 
That  casque  of  thine  which  barely  sheds  the  rain  ; 

"  That  rapier  toy  thou  dost  so  deftly  wear 
Will  serve  as  bodkin  for  my  lady  fair ; 

"  For  since  thou  hast  defied  me  on  the  road 
My  lance  shall  spit  thee  as  it  would  a  toad. 

"  If  knight  thou  claim'st  to  be,  pray  tell  me  how, 
Unarmed,  thou  dost  maintain  thy  knightly  vow : 

"  The  Oath  of  Chivalry  that  poets  sing  : — 
Defense  of  God,  the  ladies,  and  the  king  ?  " 

"  Defense  of  God,"  quoth  he,  "  we  ne'er  pretend, 
For  Heaven  itself  can  Heaven  itself  defend. 

"  Protect  the  ladies  ?     Yes  :  the  precious  elves  ; 
But  bless  your  soul,  they  can  protect  themselves. 

"  Although  we're  seldom  charged  with  their  defense 
Pray  do  not  think  they're  any  less  expense ; 

"  And  kings  are  luxuries,  beyond  a  doubt, 
The  world  is  learning  fast  to  live  without. 

"  Mankind  to  man  refuse  to  bow  the  knee, 
And  kings  are  only  kings  by  courtesy. 

"  I  represent " — at  this  his  proud  lip  curled — 

"  An  age  where  mind,  not  muscle,  rules  the  world." 


156  THE    TWO  KNIGHTS. 

"  Since  thou  hast  challenged  me,  unarmored  knight, 
Use  thou  thy  weapon,  I  unarmed  will  fight. 

"  But  that  thy  boldness  earns  respect  from  me, 
With  this  mailed  gauntlet  I  would  chasten  thee. 

"  Or,  if  inclined,  clutching  thee  by  the  frock, 
Dash  out  those  brains  upon  the  wayside  rock 

"  Thou  claim'st  as  thy  defense — and  thou  should'st  find 
That  muscle  still  is  master  over  mind  ; 

"  I'll  take  thee  'neath  my  arm  and  squeeze  thee  there 
As  one  would  play  a  bagpipe  at  a  fair, 

"  And  thou  shalt  feel  me  piping  at  thy  throat 
And  swanlike  die  with  thine  expiring  note  !  " 

Replied  the  stranger : — "  Sir,  you'd  best  reflect ; 
Before  we're  done  you'll  speak  with  more  respect ; 

"  Before  the  title  of  brave  knight  you  earned, 
A  little  caution,  too,  I  ween  you  learned. 

"  While  man  is  human  he  should  never  scorn  ; 
No  man  so  great  but  greater  may  be  born." 

At  which  the  knight  made  at  him,  thus  defied  ; 
Meanwhile  the  stranger  nimbly  stepped  aside  ; 

Drawing  his  pistol,  as  he  turned  around, 
Fired  through  the  empty  helmet  on  the  ground. 

Amazed  the  trembling  knight,  prostrate  with  fear, 
Gasped  :  "  What  infernal  noise  is  this  I  hear  ? 

"And  art  thou,  sir,  the  devil  in  disguise  ? 
Is  that  the  thing  with  which  to  civilize?  " 


THE    TWO  KNIGHTS.  157 

"  I  am  but  mortal,  sir,  pray  have  no  fear — 
His  majesty  ne'er  puts  on  knightly  gear. 

"  This  pistol,  sir,  the  product  of  the  mind, 
Unto  one  common  level  brings  mankind. 

"  Be  not  amazed,  'tis  but  a  common  toy, 
And  rates  the  giant  with  the  crippled  boy. 

"  Look  where  the  bullet  pierced  your  helmet  through. 
Tis  well,  Sir  Knight,  I  did  not  shoot  at  you, 

"  Although  the  instrument  is  well  designed 
To  impress  an  argument  upon  the  mind. 

"  Here's  dynamite — a  modest  powder  brown, 
That  burrows  earth  and  tears  the  mountain  down. 

"  Should  I  the  wonders  of  the  age  explain, 
Your  feeble  mind  would  hardly  bear  the  strain. 

"  It  is  enough,  Sir  Knight,  for  you  to  know. 
True  chivalry  doth  not  in  armor  go : 

"  Who  conquers  others  doth  much  valor  show ; 
Who  conquers  self  subdues  the  greater  foe. 

"  The  fiercest  wars  are  battles  of  the  mind — 
Bring  sweeter  peace  and  leave  less  ills  behind. 

"  If  swords  bring  death,  far  better  that  we  break  them, 
And  help  poor  orphans  rather  than  to  make  them  : 

'Twere  far  more  valorous  to  wield  the  spade  ; 
For  making  widows  is  a  sorry  trade. 

"  They  need  no  armor  who,  in  modern  years, 
Shed  benefits  instead  of  purple  tears. 


158  THE    TWO  KNIGHTS. 

"  Not  he  alone  of  great  athletic  might, 
Or  skill  to  use  the  sword,  may  be  a  knight. 

"  But  every  man  who  scorns  oppression's  rod, 
Loves  country,  home,  his  mother,  and  his  God  ; 

"  Who  can  be  cautious,  too,  as  well  as  brave, 
And  bear  through  life  his  honor  to  the  grave — 

"  A  life  of  purity  without  pretense, 
Of  charity  and  sweet  benevolence — 

"  Twin  virtues  by  which  chivalry  may  find 
Man's  greatest  glory  is  to  bless  mankind. 

He  is  true  knight  in  whom  these  virtues  blend  ! 
The  truest  knight  is  truest  to  \i\sfriend ; 

"  For  friendship — grandest  boon  to  mortals  given- 
Creates  on  earth  a  little  bit  of  heaven." 

A  while  in  wonder  he  the  stranger  scanned, 
Acknowledging  defeat  with  proffered  hand. 

"  I'll  be  a  modern  knight  henceforth,"  said  he, 
"  For  thou,  unarmored  knight,  hast  conquered  me. 

"  I  feel  a  power  within  that's  greater  than 
The  sinewed  might  of  any  mortal  man. 

"  No  more  shall  my  huge  lance  on  tented  field 
Strike  down  opposing  knight  too  brave  to  yield. 

"  The  foremost  knight  shall  be  the  foremost  man 
And,  chivalrous,  turn  good  Samaritan  ! " 

The  archers  o'er  night's  ramparts  had  begun 
To  shoot  the  golden  arrows  of  the  sun 


THE   TWO  KNIGHTS.  159 

Before  the  dreamer,  waking,  found  that  he 
Had  wandered  in  some  future  century. 

He  felt  the  soul  within,  beyond  a  doubt, 
Was  greater  than  the  mighty  man  without — 

The  spirit,  the  aspiring  mind  and  heart, 
Alone  were  heaven's  eternal  counterpart ; 

That  prowess  after  all  was  empty  name, 
And  noble  deeds  the  surest  road  to  fame. 

His  knightly  banneret  aside  he  flung, 
His  armor  on  the  castle  wall  he  hung, 

And,  doffing  helmet  for  the  priestly  hood, 
Was  ever  after  known  as  "  Friar  Good"  ; 

\jtlt  friendship's  bounty  at  the  widow's  door, 
And  carried  life  where  he  took  death  before  ; 

While  seeds  of  charity  gave  better  yield 
Than  all  the  glory  of  the  battle  field  ; 

True  knighthood  never  had  a  truer  friend, 
Nor  faith  and  works  a  brighter,  holier  end. 


160  ITALIO. 


ITALIC. 

ITALIC  paused  while  crossing  the  Thames 
On  London  Bridge  of  a  summer's  day  ; 
And  he  watched  the  pigeons  with  eyes  like  gems 
And  their  wings  of  freedom  to  fly  away. 

And  he  thanked  his  Maker  for  freedom  as  well — 
For  freedom  that  long  had  been  out  of  his  reach, 
While  immured  in  a  murky  political  cell, 
Because  he  indulged  in  the  freedom  of  speech ; 

When  a  lad,  who  was  whistling  a  national  air, 
Came,  bearing  a  cage  that  was  rudely  made 
To  contain  little  birds  that  his  skill  might  ensnare, 
And  skylarks  that  day  were  his  stock  in  trade. 

"  Thena  you  are  a  jailor ! "  Italic  said, 

In  that  dialect  known  for  its  musical  charm  ; 

"  A  vera  young  jailor,  weez  curia  head, 

And  you  carra  da  preeson  beneatha  your  arm. 

"  Praya  why  do  you  keepa  da  leetala  bird 
Behinda  da  bars  in  da  summair  time  ? 
Nevair  in  alia  da  life  have  I  heard 
Da  heaven-lark  evair  committed  a  crime !  " 

"  Look  'ere !  "  said  the  lad,  "  w'ere's  yer  bloomin'  eyes  ? 
Ye  never  see  jailbirds  wi'  garments  so  brown. 
'Tis  a  lark  just  imported  from  up  in  de  skies ; 
'Ere's  the  bird  an'  the  cage,  sur,  at  'arf  a  crown! " 

"  Woulda  freedom  to  all  were  so  vera  cheap  : 
A  crown  woulda  buy  man  hees  libertee  ! 


IT  A  LI 0.  161 


Whata  right  hava  you  in  da  bondage  to  keep 
Whata  nature  and  God  hava  mada  so  free?  " 

"  Ye  talks  like  a  parson,  sur,  full  o'  his  text'! 
An'  if  ye'd  allow  o'  me  sayin'  a  word — 
Wile  'opin'  as  'ow,  sur,  ye  wouldn't  be  wexed — 
I'll  pass  roun'  me  'at,  sur,  to  pay  for  the  bird." 

Italio  smiles  as  he  pays  him  the  price ; 

Then  caressing  the  lark,  from  his  broad  open  palm 

Lets  him  fly  away,  up  to  the  birds'  paradise 

Of  the  blue  and  the  white  and  the  gold,  with  a  psalm. 

"  Thus  do  I  letta  da  leetal  bird  go ! 
Restoring  to  nature  a  bird  and  a  song ; 
And  flinging  da  cage  to  da  reevair  below, 
Eacha  go  to  da  place  where  he  mosta  belong. 

"  From  da  clover,  da  daisie,  da  butteracup — 
Da  meadow's  perfume  on  hees  velveta  wing — 
He  carra  da  incense  which  nature  send  up  ! 
Sole  envoy  to  Heaven,  smalla  wonder  he  sing ! 

"  As  thou  risest  up  from  thy  dewy  nest 
To  waken  da  sun  wi'  dy  matina  hymn, 
Hees  golden  arrows  he  shoot  at  dy  breast 
As  he  benda  hees  bow  o'er  da  mountaina  rim. 

"  I  knowa  da  joy  in  dy  littala  throat ! 
And  up  at  da  weendow  of  heaven  I  see 
De  angel  enchant'  wi'  dy  mellow  note; 
Taka  dema  da  kiss  wheech  I  gava  to  thee ! 

"  Farawell  leetal  bird  !  fetcha  word  from  on  high, 
Wheecha  creed  of  mankinda  be  right,  whicha  wrong. 
Da  soul  of  da  mortal  clat  seeka  da  sky 
Shall  not  losea  da  way  if  it  follow  dy  song." 


1 6 2      THE  GHOST  OF  AN  OLD  CONTINENTAL. 

How  many  a  bird  from  its  cage  is  freed 
By  an  act  of  kindness  the  world  may  spare. 
And  touching  the  lip  of  a  generous  deed, 
Toward  heaven  is  kissed  by  a  practical  prayer. 


THE  GHOST  OF  AN  OLD  CONTINENTAL. 

I'M  the  ghost  of  an  old  Continental, 

Come  back  for  the  Fourth  of  July  ! 
Now  don't  you  go  pihV  oh  questions, 

Or,  Yankee-like,  I  shall  reply 
By  askin'  you  questions.      Whence  came  I? 

It  isn't  quite  right  you  should  know  ; 
But  this  much  I'll  tell  you,  good  people — 

I  didn't  come  up  from  below  ! 

I  came  for  a  sort  of  a  sojourn, 

To  see  how  you're  keepin'  the  day  ; 
If  you'd  keep  it  up  this  way  forever, 

I  reckon  I'd  just  like  to  stay  ! 
The  people  and  customs  have  altered, 

You'll  scarcely  believe  it  is  true ; 
But,  searchin'  from  ocean  to  ocean, 

I  found  only  one  thing  I  knew  : 

The  savage  had  fled  with  the  forest ; 

Great  cities  in  haunts  of  the  stag  ; 
I  wouldn't  have  known  my  own  country 

If  I  hadn't  caught  sight  o'  the  flag  ! 
There's  a  heap  more  o'  stars  in  the  corner ; 

The  blue  field  you're  tryin'  to  fill 
With  States  that  I  never  yet  heard  of, 

But  the  old  thirteen  stripes  are  there  still ! 


THE  GHOST  OF  AN  OLD  CONTINEN  TAL.      1 63 

I  reckon  I'm  quite  out  of  fashion, 

For  meetin'  some  city  gallants 
They  asked  where  I  purchased  my  wardrobe 

And  picked  up  these  bicycle  pants. 
In  my  day  the  men  wore  knee-breeches — 

I  trust  the  allusion  won't  vex , 
But  those  long  ones  I  see  the  men  wearin' 

Were  worn  by  the  opposite  sex  ! 

This  bicycle  business  reminds  me 

I've  got  no  amazement  to  spare  ; 
I'd  heard  of  'em  walkin'  on  water, 

But  never  o'  walkin'  on  air! 
They  showed  me  their  spinnin'-wheel  buggy, 

And  said  I  could  ride,  bein'  shown  : 
But  never  again  will  I  straddle 

A  wagon  that  won't  stand  alone ! 

The  light  in  the  gas-jet  is  burnin' ; 

The  anthracite  coal  on  the  hearth  ; 
Blue  blood  pulses  out  in  petroleum 

By  probin'  the  veins  of  the  earth  ! 
By  the  light  of  a  tallow  dip  candle 

Our  bashful  youth  courted  the  lass  ; 
But  now,  when  they're  doin'  their  sparking, 

They  turn  on  the  natural  gas  ! 

I  met  such  a  singular  creature, 

Which  someone  observed  was  a  dude  ; 
While  gazin'  in  wonder  upon  him 

He  said  I  was  how  idly  wude  ! 
When  I  was  a  youngster  the  monkeys 

Went  round  on  hand-organs  content, 
While  Italy  makea  de  moosic 

De  monkey  he  catcha  de  cent ! 


164      THE  GHOST  OF  AN  OLD  CONTINENTAL. 

I  wanted  an  old  flint-lock  musket 

With  ramrod  and  long  powder-horn  ; 
They  asked  me  in  perfect  amazement, 

"  Wai,  stranger,  pray  when  were  you  born  ? ' 
The  sight  of  their  breech-loadin'  rifles, 

And  Gatlin'  guns  turned  by  a  crank, 
With  bullets  stuck  into  a  thimble, 

Bewildered  this  old-fashioned  Yank ! 

I  told  'em  I  reckoned  I  wasn't 

Familiar  with  new  Yankee  tricks ! 
I'd  a-settled  the  whole  Revolution 

If  I'd  had  'em  in  seventy-six  ! 
Imagine  me  fightin'  at  Yorktown, 

A-mowin'  'em  down  on  the  run, 
As  I  used  to  cut  swaths  in  the  meadow — 

A-tryin'  this  new-fangled  gun  ! 

The  spinnin'  and  weavin'  and  knittin' 

Are  numbered  with  things  obsolete  : 
A  woman  now  wabbles  a  pedal, 

And  sewin'  is  done  with  the  feet ! 
But  speakin'  o'  wabble  reminds  me — 

One  custom  they  cannot  forget : 
The  women  did  most  of  the  talkin' — 

I  find  they  are  doin'  it  yet ! 

Some  monstrous  electrical  spiders, 

It  seems,  have  been  plyin'  their  trade  ; 
The  network  of  wire  o'er  the  cities 

Is  naught  but  the  web  they  have  made. 
And  so  they  keep  spinnin'  and  weavin' 

As  if  human  bein's  were  flies  ; 
Once  caught  in  the  toils  of  its  meshes, 

This  buzzin'  humanity  dies  ! 


THE  GHOS T  OF  AN  OLD  CONTINENTAL.     1 65 

This  telephone  beats  all  creation — 

A  coffee-mill  stuck  on  the  wall ; 
One  turn  of  the  crank,  and  the  nation 

Stands  waitin'  at  your  beck  and  call ! 
When  I  go  back  yonder  and  tell  'em 

The  people  are  talkin'  by  wire, 
They'll  say  "  It's  just  what  we  expected — 

The  Devil's  had  hold  of  the  Squire  !  " 

But  what  will  they  say  when  I  tell  'em 

The  navy  is  runnin'  by  steam  ; 
The  railroad  has  tunneled  the  mountain 

And  bridged  every  canyon  and  stream  ; 
Torpedo-sharks  swim  in  the  ocean  ; 

The  dynamite  fiend  is  well  known  ; 
Electrical  lights  furnish  lovers 

With  nice  fickle  moons  of  their  own  ? 

Steel  pens  and  type-writers  have  driven 

The  old-fashioned  quill  out  of  use, 
And  the  genius  of  authors  no  longer 

Soars  around  on  the  wings  of  a  goose  ! 
Your  new  incubators  have  taken 

The  poetry  out  of  the  hen  ; 
And  Darwin,  with  strange  evolution, 

The  vanity  out  of  the  men  ! 

In  my  day  men  came  from  the  cradle  ; 

Evolution  don't  prosper  so  well 
If  that  is  the  best  it  can  furnish — 

The  la-de-da  dude  and  the  swell. 
Far  better  if  Darwin  had  left  'em 

Back  where  evolution  began, 
Than  spoil  a  respectable  monkey 

In  tryin'  to  eke  out  a  man ! 


i66      THE  GHOST  OF  AN  OLD  CONTINENTAL. 

To  watch  a  balloonist  ascendin' 

I  borrowed  an  opera-glass, 
Observin' :  "  when  /  journeyed  upward, 

I  didn't  need  hydrogen  gas  !  " 
But,  wonder  of  wonders  !  they  asked  me 

To  ride  in  a  flyin'-machine, 
And  take  a  trip  over  the  ocean 

To  visit  the  jubilee  Queen  ! 

Though  intended  to  be  a  free  country, 

I  fear  you  will  make  it  too  free, 
Since  foreigners  bound  to  outbreed  ye 

Are  bound  to  outvote  ye,  ye  see  ! 
The  freedom  of  ballot's  a  blessin' 

When  left  to  the  honor  of  men, 
But  giv'n  to  the  scum  of  creation — 

Pray  what  do  you  think  of  it  then  ? 

You'll  excuse  my  great  love  for  that  banner, 

Which  now  is  the  pride  of  the  world  ; 
I  bore  it  at  old  Saratoga, 

The  very  first  time  'twas  unfurled  ! 
And  if  ever  you  need  our  assistance, 

To  keep  th,e  old  flag  in  the  air, 
Send  a  message  up  yonder  to  glory  ; 

All  the  old  Continentals  are  there ! 


GRAND   CANYON  OF   THE   COLORADO.      167 


THE  GRAND  CANYON  OF  THE  COLORADO. 

MIDWAY  to  heaven  I  stand  between  two  skies  : 
The  blue  above,  the  purple  one  below. 
Far  down  the  depths  the  screaming  eagle  flies, 
To  solitude  the  solitary  foe. 

Clutching  a  shrub,  and  leaning  o'er  the  brink 
I  see  a  river  dwindle  to  a  thread  ; 
So  far  below  parched  Nature  may  not  drink  ; 
A  vein  of  life  still  pulsing  through  the  dead. 

The  soft  white  clouds  float  o'er  the  canyon  brown, 
Like  troops  of  angels  stealing  from  the  sky  ; 
Thus  heaven  smiles  brightest  where  earth  wears  a  frown, 
While  grandeur  ever  lifts  the  soul  on  high. 

Heaven  finds  on  earth  some  quiet  dwelling-place, 
Where  e'en  the  skeptic  must  his  Maker  scan 
And  cry  in  awe  before  Him,  face  to  face  : 
How  infinite  is  God  !    How  puny,  man  ! 


THE  DEAD  REGIMENTS. 

THESE  mounds,  undulating,  make  waves  on  the  sod, 
Like  the  billows  of  time  in  the  ocean  of  God. 

O'er  the  wrecks  of  rebellion,  the  lost  and  the  slain 
In  the  tempest  of  strife,  floating  up  on  the  main, 
Close  packed  like  the  drift-wood  washed  up  by  the  surf, 
God  spread  his  tarpaulin  of  sanctified  turf ; 
Thus  heaven  made  the  tents 
Of  the  dead  regiments. 


1 68  ELSIE  AD  AIR. 


They  had  ended  their  war  ere  the  battle  was  over, 
And  poured  out  their  blood  making  crimson  the  clover. 
You  thought  they  were  sleeping—you  found  they  were 

dead, 

And  not  to  disturb  them  just  lowered  their  bed ; 
You  raised  Nature's  blanket  and  laid  them  close  under, 
Where  no  bugle  wakes  them,  nor  hoarse  cannon's  thun 
der. 

Grave's  mute  residents, 
Are  the  dead  regiments. 

Above  them  still  bloom  the  wild  flowers  of  the  nation — 
They  nourish  the  plants  for  their  own  decoration  ; 
Serenely  they  sleep  without  mattress  or  pillow 
'Neath  tents  that  are  green  as  the  sun-crested  billow. 
Many  times  they  had  slept  on  the  grass  and  the  sod 
Ere  they  went  into  camp,  with  the  army  of  God. 
Now  those  beds  are  the  tents 
Of  the  dead  regiments. 


ELSIE  ADAIR. 

ELSIE,  Elsie,  sweet  Adair  ; 
Hail  you  from  the  upper  air  ? 
Graceful  as  the  fabled  fairy 
In  your  silken  robes  so  airy  ; 
With  the  mellow  music  swaying  ; 
While  the  colored  lights  are  playing 
On  the  vision  transitory  ; 
Tis  a  picture  out  of  glory ; 
For  with  angels  you  compare, 
Elsie,  Elsie,  sweet  Adair ! 


STUTTERING  BILL   ON   THE  HEN.       169 

Elsie,  Elsie,  sweet  Adair  ; 
With  a  smile  so  debonnair; 
Graceful  as  the  waving  willow, 
Or  the  rolling,  dancing  billow ; 
Turning,  twisting,  swinging,  bending; 
Every  charm  on  thee  attending, 
With  such  melody  of  motion, 
One  cannot  resist  the  notion : 
Hearts  are  broke  beyond  repair, 
Elsie,  Elsie,  sweet  Adair  ! 

Elsie,  Elsie,  have  a  care, 

Sommersaulting  in  the  air  ! 

Lucky  worm  whose  gorgeous  spinning 

Robes  the  dancing  maid  so  winning  ; 

While  the  silken  wings  go  whirling, 

Fold  on  fold,  in  rapture  curling  ; 

Deeming  it  a  pleasant  duty 

To  enfold  such  grace  and  beauty. 

Chaste  and  charming  thing  of  air, 

Elsie,  Elsie,  sweet  Adair  ! 


STUTTERING  BILL  ON  THE  HEN. 

THE  h-hen's  a  feathered  f -flirt ! 
She's  neither  b-bird  nor  owl ; 
She  wallers  in  the  d-dirt, 
And  so  they  calls  her  f-fowl. 

Her  head  is  on  w-w-one  end, 
Her  t-t-tail  is  stuck  on  t-t'other  ; 
But  nothin'  t-t-to  commend, 
Like  that  owned  b-by  her  b-brother. 


1 70       STUTTERING  BILL   ON   THE  HEN. 

D-dame  Nature  rarely  f-fails, 
Nor  1-leaves  her  f-friends  bereft, 
But  w-when  she  gave  out  t-t-tails, 
Somehow  the  h-hen  got  l-left. 

Her  wings  are  like  her  t-t-tail : 
Of  no  account  at  all. 
When  f-flyin'  from  a  rail, 
They  only  b-break  the  f-fall. 

All  d-day  she  is  a  h-hen  ; 

At  night  whene'er  she  ch-choose-ter 

Go  off  to  b-bed,  why,  then 

She's  n-nothin'  but  a  r-rooster. 

No  female  g-gossip  knows, 
Because  she  st-stays  at  home. 
She  s-sleeps  in  her  b-best  clothes, 
And  w-wears  her  hair  in  c-c-comb. 

The  b-best  known  incubator — 
Until  some  Y-Yankee  1-lout 
Improved  the  h-hen  creator, 
Whose  p-patent  right  r-run  out. 

Watch  M-Mother  Shanghai  st-stride  ; 
So  like  those  v-vain  dragoons ; 
Her  f-feet  she  t-tries  to  hide 
With  f-feather  p-pantaloons. 

When  B-Bridget  scrubs  the  k-kitchen, 
And  gets  it  c-clean  and  n-neat, 
These  h-hens  stand  round  j-jess  itchin' 
To  use  their  m-muddy  f-f-feet. 


MRS.  FLAA'DEKS.  1 7 1 

These  hens  are  q-quite  exclusive: 
Believin'  etiquette 
To  b-be  a  th-thing  delusive, 
Each  h-holds  to  her  own  s-s-set. 

A  b-bantam  hen  h-had  I, 
With  little  ch-chick  to  match  it ; 
She  said  :  "  I  cannot  1-lie — 
It  was  my  1-little  h-hatchet !  " 

My  r-rooster  crows  f-for  fun  ; 
And  he  will  always  d-d-do  so. 
I  named  him  Robinson 
J-j-jess  because  he  Crew-so  ! 


MRS.  FLANDERS. 

SALLY  HIGGINS  wasn't  smart ; 

She  lacked  the  brains,  but  not  the  heart ; 

She'd  lots  o'  space  for  Cupid's  dart, 

For  which  a  woman  panders  ; 
And  she  wa'n't  much  on  beauty  nuther; 
With  none  to  love — not  e'en  a  brother  : 
The  Bible  says  :  "  Love  one  another  " — 

So  she  loved  Billy  Flanders. 

An'  sometimes  Billy  'd  hang  areound ; 
Sit  on  the  fence  er  on  the  greound, 
An'  try  to  look  a  bit  profeound  ; 

Both  thumbs  in  his  suspenders  : 
"  It  ain't  much  matter  what  folks  say  ; 
She's  smart  as  I  am  any  day ; 
Thar  hain't  much  larnin'  come  my  way, 

More'n  any  other  Flanders'." 


1 7  2  MRS.  FLANDERS. 

Said  Sal :  "  I  'spect  he'll  ask  of  me 

That  Mrs.  Flanders  I  will  be  ; 

Then  I  must  seem  composed — te-he  ! 

Not  like  the  Goosy  Ganders. 
I'll  have  to  practice  heow  to  walk, 
An'  heow  to  act,  an'  heow  to  talk, 
So  not  to  seem  a  silly  gawk 

When  I  am  Mrs.  Flanders. 

"  Yeou  long-tailed  squirrels,  every  one, 
I'm  willin'  you  should  watch  the  fun ; 
But,  mind  ye,  don't  ye  laugh,  nor  run 

An'  scatter  any  slanders  ! 
Yeou  little  birds  up  in  the  trees, 
Jest  yeou  watch  eout  that  no  one  sees, 
When  my  own  hand  I  gently  squeeze, 

As  if  'twere  Billy  Flanders'." 

But.  just  as  her  untutored  ear 

Had  grown  accustomed  oft  to  hear 

The  sweet  words:  "  Mrs.  Flanders,  dear," 

She  met  a  Mr.  Sanders, 
Who  thereupon  made  her  a  call; 
And— what  d'ye  think  ? — he  had  the  gall 
To  ask  her  hand ;  and  got  it  all, 

Instead  of  Billy  Flanders. 

"  I've  gin  ye  both  my  heart  an'  hand; 
They're  yeours  till  death  shall  take  command 
But  when  ye  learn  what  I  had  planned, 

I  guess  ye'll  have  the  '  janders  '  J 
Fur,  neow  it's  fixed,  I'll  tell  ye  what : 
My  calculation's  all  upsot, 
Fur  'sted  o'  gittin'  the  man  I've  got 

I  'spected  I'd  git  Flanders. 


OLD  EAGLE. 


I've  practiced  t'other  name  so  long 
It's  like  a  good  old-fashioned  song, 
That,  once  got  right,  ye  can't  git  wrong  ; 

Think  so,  Mr.  Sanders  ? 
Till  I  can  sort  o'  change  my  text 
I  trust  ye'll  not  be  gittin'  vexed 
If,  when  they  ask,  I  git  perplexed 

An'  say  :  "  I'm  Mrs.  Flanders  ! " 


OLD   EAGLE. 

FEAR  not,  grand  eagle, 

The  bay  of  the  beagle  ! 
No  hunter  his  gun  will  incline ! 

He's  branded  with  shame 

Whoever  takes  aim 
At  thy  freedom,  a  right  divine  ! 

Great  bird,  thou  art  king 

Of  all  that  bear  wing  ! 
And  this  was  thy  country  of  old  ! 

'Way  back  in  creation, 

Before  'twas  a  nation, 
Or  known  to  Columbus,  the  bold. 

With  the  red  man,  primeval, 

Thy  birthright's  coeval, 
By  Deity  given  in  feoff ! 

'Twas  not  his  war  bonnet, 

But  thy  plumage  on  it, 
Made  the  crown  of  the  old  Indian  chief ! 


174  OLD  EAGLE. 


As  the  dove  was  the  guide 

To  the  ark  on  the  tide, 
To  freedom  thou  ever  hast  been — 

Flying  out  on  the  sea 

To  greet  Liberty, 
And  pilot  the  Mayflower  in  ! 

The  sunset  red 

On  the  white  clouds  shed 
Made  stripes  for  our  goddess  divine — 

She  stitching  the  bars, 

Thou  bringing  the  stars, 
Completing  the  grand  design. 

'Twas  thy  sweeping  wing 

Did  the  first  breath  bring 
To  the  sail  of  the  old  Constitution  ; 

And  from  first  to  last 

Thou  didst  wheel  'round  her  mast 
In  the  smoke  of  the  great  Revolution. 

Start  not  from  thy  poise 

At  that  rumbling  noise 
When  the  lightning  and  storm  disagree 

It  is  not  a  battle, 

Tis  only  the  rattle 
Of  heaven's  artillery. 

From  thine  eyrie,  the  crag, 

Watch  over  thy  flag, 
And  ne'er  let  it  trail  in  the  dust ! 

Soaring  high  in  the  air 

Ever  this  aegis  bear  : 
"  In  Freedom  and  God  is  our  Trust" 


THE  BROGUE  I  BROUGHT  OVER.         175 

Fear  not,  grand  eagle, 

The  bay  of  the  beagle  ! 
No  hunter  his  gun  will  incline  ! 

He's  branded  with  shame 

Whoever  takes  aim 
At  thy  freedom,  a  right  divine ! 


THE  BROGUE  I  BROUGHT  OVER  THE  OCEAN. 

I'M  a  bright  Irish  maid, 
Wid  an  excellent  trade  : 
I  wash  up  the  dishes,  and  cook. 

Though  I  ne'er  went  to  school, 
I  am  nobody's  fool ; 
I'm  smarter,  a  heap,  than  I  look ! 
Whiriever  I  take  a  good  notion, 
To  mistress  I  show  great  devotion. 
I've  a  very  rich  brogue, 
Which  a  handsome  young  rogue 
Declares  I  brought  over  the  ocean. 
Across  the  sea 
I'm  Biddy  McCree  ; 
But  Patrick  declares  he's  a  notion 
O'  changin'  my  name, 
Though  he  loikes  the  same 
Wid  the  brogue  I  brought  over  the  ocean. 

Patrick  says  it's  no  harm 

To  hold  me  wid  his  arm, 
Though  it  came  to  his  mind  by  degrees  ; 

An'  he  thinks,  I  declare, 

I  would  slip  off  me  chair 
If  he  didn't  hold  on  wid  a  squeeze. 


176        THE  BROGUE  I  BROUGHT  OVER. 


I  axed  where  he  picked  up  the  notion 
O'  showin'  me  waist  such  devotion. 
"  Someone  else,  I  suppose, 
Your  arm  would  inclose 
If  I  hadn't  come  over  the  ocean  ! " 
Across  the  sea 
I'm  Biddy  McCree; 
But  Patrick  declares  he's  a  notion 
O'  changin'  my  name, 
Though  he  loikes  the  same 
Wid  the  brogue  I  brought  over  the  ocean. 

Patrick  made  this  reply, 
Wid  a  look  in  his  eye 
Which  made  me  believe  what  he  said  : 
"  Sure,  no  angel  above 
Equals  Biddy,  me  love ! 
For  the  want  of  yer  smile  I'd  be  dead  !  " 
Whin  so  nately  he  spoke  his  devotion,  ^ 
I  thought  I  would  "  second  the  motion  "  : 
"  If  'twill  save  ye  from  dyin,' 
There's  no  use  denyin' 
I  did  well  to  come  over  the  ocean. " 
Across  the  sea 
I'm  Biddy  McCree ; 
But  Patrick  declares  he's  a  notion 
O'  changin'  my  name, 
Though  he  loikes  the  same 
Wid  the  brogue  I  brought  over  the  ocean, 


PADDY  MOORE. 


PADDY  MOORE. 

PADDY  MOORE  was  all  Irish,  and  no  doubting  it  ; 
If  you  doubted  the  name,  you  could  tell  by  the  wit. 

A  policeman  he  was,  of  material  raw, 

Who  had  taken  the  oath  of  enforcing  the  law. 

He  would  serve  any  warrant,  it  mattered  not  how, 
Though  he  couldn't  be  trusted  to  settle  a  row ; 

One  never  could  tell,  when  he'd  finished  the  job, 
Which  was  the  officer,  which  was  the  mob. 

Some  Irish  excuse  for  such  conduct  he'd  find  : 

"  Whin  I  grab  me  shillalah,  the  law  slips  me  mind !  " 

John  Lynch  was  a  drunkard  whom  Paddy  knew  well, 
For  always  when  tipsy  his  story  he'd  tell : 

"  I  was  born  on  the  ocean  that  far  from  the  land 
How  to  fix  up  me  age  I  can  not  undhershtand. 

"  Bein'  out  on  the  waves,  I  was  born  long  before 
I  came  into  the  world,  don't  ye  see,  Paddy  Moore. 

•'  Bein'  born  to  no  counthry,  I  must  be  a  rogue ; 
But,  bedad,  I'm  not  Dutch,  ye  can  tell  by  the  brogue. 

"  I've  been  earnin'  me  bread  by  the  shweat  o'  me  brow  ; 
I  think  it's  skilled  labor  they're  callin'  it  now. 

"  I  can  handle  the  shovel  along  wid  the  best  ; 
But  the  skill  o'  me  labor  is  shtoppin'  to  rest. 

"  Let  none  o'  yees  doubt,  though  I  can't  write  me  name, 
I'll  be  makin1  me  mark  in  the  world  jist  the  same. 


1 78  PADDY  MOORE. 


"  I'm  a  voter,  bedad,  though  me  brogue  is  that  thick 
That  ofttimes  I  strike  it  mysilf  wid  a  pick. 

"  But  a  terrible  failin'  lies  hard  at  me  door: 
Tis  a  love  for  the  liquor  I'll  never  git  o'er; 

"  For,  though  I  was  born  in  the  midst  of  the  brine, 
An'  all  those  sweet  mermaids  are  sisters  o'  mine, 

"  I  was  that  scared  o'  water,  for  fear  I  should  drown, 
That  niver  since  then  could  I  kape  the  stuff  down." 

In  New  Brunswick,  New  Jersey,  John  Lynch  chose  to 

dwell ; 
And,  barring  mosquitoes,  it  suited  him  well : 

He  had  cranberries  cheap,  an  occasional  strike, 
And  "  old  applejack  "  plenty  whenever  he'd  like. 

But  he  liked  it  too  often,  and  liked  it  too  much  ; 
And  whenever  in  liquor  his  temper  was  such 

That  the  demon  of  drink  would  incite  him  to  crime ; 
And  for  beating  his  wife  he  had  many  a  time 

Been  under  arrest ;  till  he  swore  by  the  pen 
He  would  never  be  locked  up  in  prison  again  ! 

Though  the  spirit  is  willing,  the  flesh  may  be  weak, 
And  the  spirits  he  took  were  too  strong,  so  to  speak ; 

And  the  brute  took  to  beating  his  wife  as  before— 
The  brute  always  beats  what  he  ought  to  adore ; 

And,  hearing  a  warrant  was  issued,  he  said : 

"  I'll  straightway  go  hang  myself  out  in  the  shed." 

Paddy  there  found  him  hanging,  and  said  :   "  I  declare  ! 
Ye've  got  up  in  the  world !     Are  ye  takin'  the  air  ? 


PADDY  MOORE.  179 

"  Did  ye  tie  yerself  up  to  be  here  when  I  came  ? 
Or  hang  up  like  poultry  to  show  ye  died  game  ? 

"  Fie  !  fie  !  Mr.  Lynch,  ye're  a  livin'  disgrace  ; 

Yer  deeds  are  that  dark  ye've  turned  black  in  the  face. 

"  For  fear  ye'd  not  rise  wid  such  crimes  on  yer  head, 
Ye  had  resurrection  before  ye  were  dead. 

"  To  make  sure  ye  are  dead,  here's  a  drop  of  old  rye ; 
If  there's  any  life  in  ye,  'twill  open  yer  eye. 

"  Excuse  me  for  temptin'  ye,  I  didn't  note 

Ye'd  sworn  off  from  drinkin'  an'  tied  up  yer  throat. 

"  Ye'll  go  where  the  people  are  thirsty,  I  think, 
So  kape  yer  throat  tied — ye'll  find  nothin'  to  drink. 

"  Though  ye  seem  to  be  dead,  there's  a  doubt  in  me  mind 
How  yer  life  could  get  out  wid  yer  throat  so  confined. 

"  Be  ye  livin'  or  dead  let  the  coroner  say, 
I've  no  right  to  be  wastin'  a  warrant  this  way. 

"  Though  ye're  too  dead  to  vote,  ye  shall  not  'scape  the 

law; 
Ye're  a  citizen  while  ye  can  hold  up  yer  jaw. 

"  Ye  are  served  wid  the  warrant  beyond  e'er  a  doubt, 
'Tis  there  in  yer  pocket,  the  end  stickin'  out. 

"  Ye'll  not  go  to  heaven  right  soon,  any  rate  ; 

While  ye're  under  arrest,  ye'll  not  dare  leave  the  State. 

"  Tis  no  use  to  go  up  to  St.  Peter  and  try 

To  get  in  through  the  gate  wid  that  look  in  yer  eye. 

"  He'd  know  right  away  whin  he'd  look  at  yer  face 
Ye've  a  very  bad  character  from  yer  last  place. 


l8o  "SAID  ir 

"  St.  Peter  is  kind  and  forgivin',  I  know, 
Excusin'  the  most  of  our  frailties  below, 

"  But  there  isn't  a  crime  that  would  damn  ye  that  quick 
As  strikin'  a  woman,  ye  cowardly  mick  ! 

"  Though  ye  beg  to  get  in,  he  will  not  be  herrangued  ; 
Whin  he  looks  at  yer  paper,  he'll  say :  '  You  be  hanged ! ' 

"  Whin  he  sees  by  the  paper  ye're  wanted  below 
By  his  friend  Paddy  Moore,  he'll  command  ye  to  go  ! 

"  An'  ye'll  ax  him :   '  Down  where  ?     To  New  Jersey, 

or — well, 
That  place  which  the  newspapers  niver  dare  spell  ?  ' 

"  An'  St.  Peter  will  say,  wid  a  smile  in  his  voice  : 

'  Take  yer  pick,  Mr.  Lynch  ;  'tis  a  matter  of  choice  ! ' ' 


"  SAID  I." 

HARRY  is  tall  and  full  of  grace, 

But  such  a  bashful  lover 
That  when  I  gaze  on  his  fair  face 

The  blushes  creep  all  over. 
How  strange  he  never  understood 

I  knew  each  tender  feeling  ; 
And  plainly  saw  the  love  he  would 
Oft  hide,  without  concealing. 

"  Why  don't  he  ask  ?  "  said  I 
"  Why  don't  he  ask  ?  "  said  I. 
"  How  shall  he  know 
I  love  him  so 
Unless  he  ask  ?  "  said  I. 


SAID  7."  181 


To-day  he  gently  took  my  hand  ; 

No  one  could  hold  it  lighter  ! 
I  drew  it  so  he'd  understand 

That  he  must  hold  on  tighter  ! 
I  said  :  "There's  something  on  your  mind 

Pray  tell  me  of  it,  Harry." 
He  only  asked  :  "  How  shall  I  find 
If  she  I  love  will  marry  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  ?  "  said  I ; 
"  Why  don't  you  ask  ?  "  said  I. 
"  It  might  be  so  ; 
How  can  you  know 
Unless  you  ask  ?  "  said  I. 

At  last  he  spoke,  with  many  a  sigh, 

Which  is  the  lover's  comma  : 
"  'Tis  you  I  mean  !  "  "  Ah,  well,"  said  I, 

"  You  better  ask  my  mamma  !  " 
He  sighed  :  "  I  love  but  you  alone ! 

Don't  send  me  to  another. 
Although  she's  very  sweet,  I  own, 
I  do  not  want  your  mother  !  " 

"  Well  here's  my  hand,"  said  I ; 
"  But  understand,"  said  I, 
"  Not  finger  tips, 
But  rosy  lips, 
Were  made  to  kiss  !  "  said  I. 

Young  men  are  often  so  profuse 
With  kisses  one  can't  trust  'em ; 

But  he  so  little  knew  their  use 
I'm  sure  'twas  not  his  custom  ! 

He  took  a  lesson  then  of  me — 
Though  teaching's  not  my  mission — 


1 82  WATCH  IN'  THE   SPAR  KIN1 

And  learned  it,  oh,  so  rapidly 
I'm  sure  'twas  intuition. 

"Just  take  them  all !"  said  I ; 
"  Just  take  them  all  ! "  said  I. 
"  By  taking  many 
You'll  not  leave  any 
"  For  other  lads,"  said  I. 


WATCHIN'  THE  SPARKIN'. 

SAY,  Jim,  ye  wanter  see  the  fun  ? 

Jemimy's  sparkin's  jess  begun  ! 

Git  deown — this  box  won't  hold  but  one 

Fer  peekin'  though  the  winder  ! 
Yeou  stay  down  thar  jess  whar  ye  be  ; 
I'll  tell  ye  all  thar  is  to  see  ; 
Then  you'll  enjoy  it  well  as  me ; 

An'  deon't  yeou  try  to  hinder ! 

That  teacher  is  the  dumbdest  goose 
That  Cupid  ever  turned  eout  loose; 
His  learnin'  hain't  no  sort  o'  use 

In  sparldn'  our  Jemimy  ! 
Though  peekin's  'ginst  the  golden  reule, 
He  told  us  tother  day  in  scheool 
To  watch  him  close  ;  so  git  a  steool 

An'  stand  up  here  close  by  me. 

Neow  he's  got  suthhY  in  his  head 
That  somehow  ruther's  gotter  be  said ; 
Keeps  hitchin'  up,  an'  blushin'  red, 
With  one  leg  over  t'other. 


WATCHIN'    THE   SPARKIN'.  183 

He  wants  to  do  the  thing  up  breown. 
Wall,  he's  the  biggest  gawk  in  teown  : 
Showin'  her  pictur's  upside  deown  ; 
An'  she  don't  know  it  nuther ! 

He's  got  his  arm  areound  her  chair, 
And  wonders  if  she'll  leave  it  there. 
But  she  looks  like  she  didn't  care! 

I'll  bet  he's  goin'  to  kiss  'er : 
He's  gittin'  closer  to  her  face, 
An'  pickin'  out  the  softest  place, 
An'  sort  o'  measurin'  off  the  space, 

Jess  so  as  not  to  miss  'er. 

If  she'd  git  mad,  an'  box  his  ear, 
'Twould  knock  his  plans  clean  out  o'  gear, 
An'  set  him  back  another  year  ; 

But  she  hain't  goin'  to  do  it: 
She  thinks  the  teacher's  jess  tip-top, 
An'  she  won't  let  no  chances  drop  ; 
If  ever  he  sets  in  to  pop, 

She's  goin'  to  pull  him  through  it ! 

I  gum  !  an'  if  he  ain't  the  wust ! 
Waitin'  for  her  to  kiss  him  fust ! 
He's  goin'  to  do  it  neow  er  bu'st: 

He's  makin'  preparation  ! 
Neow  watch  him  steppin'  on  her  toes — 
That's  jess  to  keep  her  doton,  I  s'pose. 
Wall,  thar,  he's  kissed  her  on  the  nose ! 

So  much  fer  edecation ! 


1 84  THE   GOLDEN  GATE. 


THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 

"  YERBA  BUENA  "  sends  a  token 
From  her  garden  in  the  West  : 
Blossoms  with  the  stems  unbroken, 
Wild  ones  gathered  from  her  breast; 
And  a  bit  of  ocean  glory, 
With  a  peep  about  the  State; 
'Tis  a  little  picture  story  : 
Gleanings  by  the  Golden  Gate. 

Yonder  forts  that  lie  a-dozing 
Like  old  castles  by  the  sea, 
Wonder  if  they  seem  imposing, 
What  their  usefulness  may  be  ; 
With  the  round  shot  sleeping  under 
Soothing  fragrance  of  the  bowers, 
And  the  cannon,  robbed  of  thunder, 
Being  captured  by  the  flowers. 

In  such  glorious  golden  weather 
As  the  seasons  with  them  bring 
You  are  puzzled  guessing  whether 
It  is  summer,  fall,  or  spring : 
'Tis  not  summer  for  the  reason 
There  is  no  oppressive  heat ; 
Nor,  indeed,  the  winter  season 
With  the  flowers  at  your  feet. 

On  this  glorious  land  of  plenty 
Nature  squandered  all  her  art ! 
Charming  as  a  maid  of  twenty : 
In  her  smiles  you  lose  your  heart. 


THE  PRETTY  COLLEEN.  185 

Should  you  doubt  the  ardent  story 
Which  the  painters  here  relate, 
Come  yourself  and  see  the  glory 
Streaming  through  the  Golden  Gate ! 


THE  PRETTY  COLLEEN. 

EVERY  lad  in  the  world  has  a  love  in  his  breast 
For  a  swate,  pretty  lass,  and  he  thinks  her  the  best : 
Thinks  her  eyes  are  the  brightest,  her  face  is  the  fairest, 
Her  cheeks  are  the  reddest,  her  lips  are  the  rarest ! 
But  there's  nothing  so  charming  in  life  to  be  seen 
As  an  Irish  lad's  love  for  his  pretty  colleen. 

O,  the  pretty  colleen  !     O,  the  pretty  colleen  ! 

She  is  true  to  her  lover  and  true  to  the  green. 

And  there's  nothing  so  charming  in  life  to  be  seen 

As  an  Irish  lad's  love  for  his  pretty  colleen. 

She  comes    from  the   land  where  the  green  shamrock 

grows  ; 

And  her  breath  is  as  swate  as  the  scint  of  the  rose  ! 
She'll  be  true  to  ye  always,  in  all  kinds  o'  weather, 
For  she  gives  ye  her  hand  and  her  heart  both  together. 
And  there's  nothing  so  charming  in  life  to  be  seen 
As  an  Irish  lad's  love  for  his  pretty  colleen. 

O,  the  pretty  colleen  !    O,  the  pretty  colleen  ! 

She  is  true  to  her  lover  and  true  to  the  green. 

And  there's  nothing  so  charming  in  life  to  be  seen 

As  an  Irish  lad's  love  for  his  pretty  colleen. 

O,  the  pretty  colleen  wid  a  smile  on  her  face 
Is  a  rare  opportunity  wan  should  embrace  ; 
Whin  ye've  taken  wan  kiss,  ye'll  be  wanting  another 
To  find  if  the  wan  would  be  swater  than  t'other  ! 


1 86      WHEN  ONE  HEART  SEATS  FOR    TWO. 

And  there's  nothing  so  charming  in  life  to  be  seen 
As  an  Irish  lad's  love  for  his  pretty  colleen. 

O,  the  pretty  colleen  !     O,  the  pretty  colleen  ! 

She  is  true  to  her  lover  and  true  to  the  green. 

And  there's  nothing  so  charming  in  life  to  be  seen 

As  an  Irish  lad's  love  for  his  pretty  colleen. 


WHEN  ONE  HEART  BEATS  FOR  TWO. 

THEY  say  I  shouldn't  flirt ; 
But  how  else  can  I  divert 
My  attention  from  the  lover  who  has  come  a-courting 

me  ? 

Can  I  know  I  love  him  best 
Save  I  flirt  with  all  the  rest  ? 

It  is  only  by  comparison  we  judge  a  thing,  you  see  ! 
What's  a  gentle  maid  to  do 
When  a  lover  comes  to  woo, 
And  the  heart  that  used  to  beat  for  one  alone 
In  a  throbbing  sweet  and  new 
Then  begins  to  beat  for  two  ? 
For  you  know  a  maiden's  heart  is  not  a  stone  ! 

They  say  I  shouldn't  kiss  ! 
Must  I  tell  my  lover  this, 
And  make  him  do  all  the  kissing  when  he's  kind  enough 

to  call  ? 

Must  I  let  his  kisses  go, 
And  no  sweet  resentment  show  ? 

Or,  in  case  he  is  too  bashful,  must  I  get  no  kiss  at  all  ? 
What's  a  gentle  maid  to  do 
When  a  lover  comes  to  woo,      ,  ,.     ., 


YOU'RE  ANOTHER.  187 

And  the  heart  that  used  to  beat  for  one  alone 
In  a  throbbing  sweet  and  new 
Then  begins  to  beat  for  two  ? 

For  you  know  a  maiden's  heart  is  not  a  stone. 

They  say  I  shouldn't  marry — 
Not  at  present !     Must  I  tarry, 

Putting  off  until  to-morrow  what  I'd  rather  do  to-day? 
For  I  think  it  is  so  nice 
Just  to  take  one's  own  advice ; 
And  there's  so  much  greater  pleasure  saying  "  Yea"  than 

saying  "  Nay  !  " 

When  such  lover  comes  to  woo,    * 
I'll  say  yes,  the  same  as  you  ; 
Then  my  heart,  instead  of  turning  into  stone, 
Will  begin  to  beat  for  two  ; 
And  I'll  find  the  Bible  true  : 
That  it  isn't  good  for  man  to  dwell  alone. 


YOU'RE   ANOTHER. 

O,  I'M  a  regular  Irish  lad  ! 

You're  another  !    You're  another  ! 
I  take  right  after  my  Irish  dad ! 

You're  another  !    You're  another  ! 
I  love  that  island  across  the  sea  ; 
The  world  is  full  of  its  pedigree  ; 
Resolved  on  setting  the  island  free  ; 

You're  another  !     You're  another  ! 

I  wear  the  shamrock  upon  my  breast ; 

You're  another  !     You're  another  ! 
Because  it  suits  my  complexion  best ; 

You're  another  !     You're  another  ! 


1 88  THE    TRAMP  AND    THE   CUR. 

Wid  me  the  shillalah  is  most  in  vogue  ; 
For  this  they  call  me  an  Irish  rogue  ; 
I  want  Home  Rule  wid  an  Irish  brogue ! 
You're  another  !    You're  another  ! 

When  I  was  born  I  was  very  young  ; 

You're  another  !     You're  another  ! 
The  brogue  got  fastened  upon  my  tongue  ; 

You're  another  !     You're  another  ! 
I  like  the  city  they  call  New  York  ; 
Though  I  shall  ever  be  fond  of  Cork — 
The  one  they  draw  wid  a  spiral  fork  ; 

You're  another  !    You're  another  ! 

O,  I'm  a  sprig  of  the  Celtic  race  ; 

You're  another  !     You're  another  ! 
The  map  of  Ireland  is  on  my  face ; 

You're  another  !     You're  another  ! 
When  I  am  dead,  there  '11  be  no  delay  : 
"  Pass  through  the  gate !  "  St.  Peter  will  say, 
"  And  give  this  Irishman  right  of  way  !  " 

You're  another  !    You're  another  ! 


THE  TRAMP  AND  THE  CUR. 

HELLO,  ye  little  wanderin'  cur ! 
Don't  be  afraid  I'll  hurt  ye,  sir ! 
Let's  get  acquainted,  as  it  were: 

Tell  us  your  name. 
What,  neither  name  nor  pedigree  ? 
Well,  I'm  about  as  bad,  you  see : 
I'm  called  a  tramp  !     'Twixt  you  and  me 

'Tis  all  the  same. 


THE   TRAMP  AND    THE   CUR.  189 

Come  here,  I'll  share  my  crust  with  you ; 
Enough  for  one's  enough  for  two  ! 
Ye  want  a  friend,  and  friends  are  few? 

That's  just  my  case. 
Ye're  poor  and  homely,  by  the  by, 
And  somewhat  ragged  ;  so  am  I ! 
And  yet  there's  somethin'  in  your  eye 

That's  not  so  base  ! 

Come  right  up  here,  ye  little  scamp  ; 

I  wouldn't  hurt  ye — I'm  a  tramp ! 

Tell  me  what  makes  your  eye  so  damp- 
Have  ye  some  sorrow  ? 

What,  lost  your  father  ?     Needn't  whine  ! 

And  mother,  too  ?    Well,  I've  lost  mine  ! 

Suppose  we  lonely  orphans  dine, 
And  weep  to-morrow  ! 

At  this  one  meal  you'll  be  my  guest ; 
Though  plain,  'tis  easier  to  digest ; 
Dyspepsia  never  brings  unrest 

To  me  nor  you  ! 

We'll  be  companions  from  this  date — 
Misery  always  likes  a  mate  ; 
And  burdens  lose  one-half  their  weight 

When  borne  by  two. 

On  velvet  cushion  by  the  hearth 
Sleeps  many  a  dog  not  half  your  worth  ; 
But,  since  ye  are  of  random  birth, 

Mankind  pass  by  ye. 
Having  no  way  to  earn  a  meal, 
You're  forced  to  either  starve  or  steal ;  • 
Could  they  but  once  your  hunger  feel 

They'd  not  deny  ye. 


1 90  THE    TRAMP  AND    THE   CUR. 

Ye  have  good  right  as  well  as  they 
To  get  your  livin'  as  ye  may  ; 
For  man  is  but  a  bird  of  prey 

That  lives  by  plunder  : 
To  rob  his  fellow-man,  a  creed  ; 
Take  from  the  earth  more  than  his  need  ; 
That  he  ne'er  satisfies  his  greed 

Is  more  the  wonder. 

Life  is  one  continual  cramp 

To  you,  the  cur,  to  me,  the  tramp, 

And  many  of  the  self-same  stamp 

That  want  our  name  ; 
For  be  they  human,  be  they  brute, 
Many  are  in  the  same  pursuit : 
To  find  for  work  some  substitute  ; 

That's  just  our  aim. 

Ye  never  need  be  friendless  more  ; 
Henceforth  we'll  tramp  from  door  to  door, 
Divide  each  day  our  scanty  store, 

Quite  all  we  need ; 
And  if  no  other  wealth  we  find 
Than  bliss  of  a  contented  mind, 
The  less  we'll  have  to  leave  behind 

For  legal  greed. 

A  dog  on  whom  ye  may  depend 
Is  better  than  a  faithless  friend  ! 
Yet  pity  'tis  man  must  descend 

Fealty  to  find  ! 

God's  noblest  oft  becomes  so  base, 
And  such  a  blot  upon  his  race, 
That  e'en  his  dog  feels  the  disgrace, 

And  sneaks  behind  ! 


THE    TRAMP  AND    THE   CUR.  191 

Pray  do  not  cringe,  nor  yelp,  nor  whine, 
Nor  bark  too  loud  when  you  would  dine ; 
But  raise  that  curly  question  sign, 

Behind  ye  saggin' ! 
You'll  find  this  maxim  never  fail : 
Too  long  a  tongue  will  not  prevail ; 
You'll  do  more  coaxin'  with  your  tail, 

So  keep  it  waggin'  ! 

And  those  soft  eyes,  my  little  friend, 
Will  all  your  meager  wants  commend  ; 
And  thus  by  pleadin'  at  each  end 

You'll  get  your  dinner  ! 
If  one  no  other  crime  commits 
Than  simply  livin'  by  his  wits, 
'Tis  beggin',  which  the  world  permits 

Both  saint  and  sinner. 

Some  are  with  many  millions  blest ; 
Some  earn  so  little  at  their  best 
That  e'en  the  Sabbath  day  of  rest 

They  may  not  take. 
Enough  for  all  is  Nature's  plan  ; 
Yet  in  her  myriad  caravan 
The  only  miser  is  a  man 

With  his  muck  rake. 

Had  circumstance  reversed  the  thing — 
Made  you  a  lapdog,  me  a  king, 
Would  we  have  better  cause  to  sing  ? 

Pray  look  around  : 
The  earth  is  ours  without  its  care, 
The  flowers,  the  sunlight,  and  the  air  ! 
Oft  wealth  would  give  one-half  its  share 

To  sleep  as  sound. 


I92  LITTLE   ETTA'S   COLORED   BOY 

He  owns  the  most  who  wants  the  least, 
And  learns  contentment  from  the  beast ; 
The  lesser  food  the  better  feast — 

So  let  us  feed  : 

Your  share  of  meat  and  all  the  bone  ! 
Since  friendship  only  may  be  shown 
For  what  we  are,  not  what  we  own, 

We're  friends  indeed  ! 

When  age  comes  on,  'tis  sad  to  know 
We've  neither  kith  nor  kin  below, 
Nor  friend  to  mourn  us  when  we  go 

Where  there's  no  schism. 
Though  death  is  nothing  but  a  sigh, 
We  long  for  someone  to  supply 
The  holy  water  of  the  eye — 

Life's  last  baptism  ! 


LITTLE  ETTA'S  COLORED  BOY. 

"  MAY  I  turn  in  'e  parlor,"  asked  Etta,  rather  coy, 
"  And  bring  along  my  tump'ny,  my  little  tolored  boy  ? 

"  His  name  is  tolored  Sammy,  and  somethin'  more  than 

that ; 
He  is  so  awful  sunburnt,  betause  he's  dot  no  hat. 

"  He  lives  way  oder  yonder  on  todder  side  'e  road, 
Down  where  you  said  a  rooster  at  early  mornin'  crowed. 

"  So  I  went  down  an'  told  'em  my  mamma  was  so  ill 
That  long-tail'  hen  disturb  her  by  singin'  froo  hees  bill. 


LITTLE  ETTA'S  COLORED  BOY.  193 

"  We  drove  him  in  'e  torner,  an'  Sammy  till  him  dead, 
An'  den  to  stop  hees  singin'  hees  ma  chop  off  hees  head. 

"  An'  when  I  asked  her  whedder  hens  went  to  heaven  or 

not, 
She  laughed  an'  said :  '  Dis  rooster  I  dess  will  go  to 

pot! ' 

"  Den  I  brought  Sammy  oder  to  div'  him  all  my  toys, 
Betause  he  don't  have  any  like  udder  little  boys. 

"  Oder  yonder  by  'e  meadow,  where  they  dot  a  water 

troff, 
I  squbbed  hees  face  so  shiny,  but  'e  black  would  not  turn 

off. 

"  What  makes  him  look  so  tolored,  while  I'm  so  very 

white  ? 
Was  I  born  in  'e  daytime  an'  he  born  in  'e  night  ? 

"Please  div'  him   my  big  nightie,   or  tut   off  one   of 

aunt's — 
His  shirt  is  tored  so  awful !     He's  only  dot  one  pants  ! 

"  You  might  take  one  of  papa's  an'  tut  'em  off  for  him, 
An'  div'  him  papa's  'spenders,  so's  to  teep  him  in." 


194  KISSING. 


KISSING. 

NAY,  pretty  maiden,  be  not  shy  ; 
Perchance  I've  come  a-wooing  thee. 
Yon  tempting  apple  does  not  try 
To  turn  its  rosy  cheek  from  me. 

All  nature  has  a-wooing  gone 

Since  first  the  sunbeam  kissed  the  dew, 

Or  glory  blushed  on  that  first  dawn 

When  worlds  were  made  and  love  was  new. 

Yon  river  like  a  maiden  sleeps 
Beneath  her  nightly  veil  of  mist ; 
Up  rosy  morning  softly  creeps, 
And  lifts  her  veil  and  leaves  her  kissed. 

The  moon  doth  kiss  the  earth,  and  smile, 
Caressing  vale  and  mountain  peak  ; 
With  much  more  ardor  all  the  while 
Old  Sol  is  kissing  t'other  cheek. 

About  the  mountain  peaks  alway 
Fair  maidens  cling  in  vapor  dressed, 
And,  kissing,  blush  but  once  a  day — 
When  Sol  goes  wooing  down  the  west. 

Yon  star  that  glistens  like  a  tear 
In  lovelorn  maiden's  soft  blue  eye, 
Enamored  of  some  wayward  sphere, 
Ever  pursues  him  with  a  sigh. 

The  birds  up  in  the  trees  are  cooing 
In  harmony,  no  one  can  doubt  it, 
And  seem  to  have  no  trouble  wooing  : 
They  kiss,  and  make  no  fuss  about  it. 


KISSING.  195 


The  ardent  breezes  kiss  your  cheek, 
And,  loverlike,  with  ardor  sigh  ; 
To  them  you  no  resentment  speak  : 
While  zephyrs  kiss  you,  may  not  I  ? 

Pray  why  were  lips  so  tempting  made 
If  not  to  win  devotion  rare  ? 
Must  not  some  penalty  be  paid 
For  being  wrought  so  wondrous  fair  ? 

And  can  you  blame  me  that  I  steal  ? 
What  though  your  cheek  incensive  burn  ! 
I,  too,  would  some  slight  sorrow  feel, 
And  quick  the  stolen  kiss  return. 

Those  lustrous  eyes  but  tell  me  this, 
What  modest  lips  would  ne'er  impart  : 
He  does  not  steal  who  takes  a  kiss, 
But  makes  a  curtsey  to  the  heart. 

Since  nature  plainly  holds  it  just, 
Let  nature  in  you  whisper  yea  ! 
For  are  we  not  all  made  of  dust  ? 
And  you,  you  are  such  charming  clay. 

The  telltale  eye  is  drooping  now, 
Till  I  must  bend  to  gaze  therein ; 
Or  gaze  on  lips  that  do,  somehow, 
The  sooner  tempt  me  to  begin. 

If  you  should  grant  me  only  one, 
I'd  hardly  know  just  where  to  take  it 
On  face  so  fair ;  and,  when  begun, 
How  long  a  bliss  I  ought  to  make  it. 


196  WHY  ROSY  LIPS    WERE  MADE. 


WHY  ROSY  LIPS  WERE  MADE. 

As  Bessie,  blushing,  raised  her  head, 
The  handsome  fellow  archly  said, 

Stroking  his  chin  : 

"  Pray  tell  why  rosy  lips  were  made  ?  " 
Said  she  :     "  They  are  the  sweet  blockade 
Against  young  lovers  who  invade 

The  heart  within." 

"  If  I  the  sweet  blockade  should  run, 
Might  I  not  hold  the  heart  I'd  won 

By  such  adventure  ?  " 
"  Not  every  one  can  take  who  tries  ! 
But  should  you  take  me  by  surprise 
And  close  the  lips,  I'd  still  have  eyes 

Would  speak  in  censure  !  " 

"  Could  eyes  like  those  be  so  unkind  ? 
Then  close  them  up,  for  Love  is  blind  !  " 

"  Nay,  that's  not  true,  sir  ! 
Can  Love  be  blind,  I'd  like  to  know, 
And  shoot  the  unerring  arrow  so  ? 
He  sees  more  in  someone,  I  trow, 

Than  others  do,  sir." 

"  And  why  do  cheeks  get  rosy  red  ?  " 
"  I'll  tell  you  why,"  sweet  Bessie  said, 

With  some  emotion  : 
"  There  nature,  with  consummate  art, 
Paints  every  passion  of  the  heart, 
That  burning  secret  to  impart — 

A  maid's  devotion  !  " 


CUPID    WENT  A-COURTING.  197 

He  stole  one  kiss  !    Then  two,  three,  four  ! 
And  gladly  would  have  stolen  more 

Without  repenting. 

"  You've  ta'en  my  heart ;  it  must  be  true 
These  rosy  lips  were  made  for  you  ! 
You'd  better  take  the  residue 

While  I'm  consenting." 


CUPID  WENT  A-COURTING. 

CUPID  went  a-courting,  courting  for  himself, 
Laid  his  bow  and  arrow  back  upon  the  shelf  ; 
He  had  done  the  courting  since  the  world  began, 
Making  love,  but  always  for  some  other  man, 
Till  he  met  a  maiden  of  such  beauty  rare, 
Got  his  bow  and  arrow  tangled  in  her  hair ; 
Got  in  further  trouble  getting  back  his  dart  : 
With  her  eyes  upon  him  Cupid  lost  his  heart. 
Pretty  little  Cupid,  I'll  tell  you 
When  you're  sent  a-courting  what  to  do  : 
Ever  be  afraid 
Of  a  pretty  maid  ; 
Leave  your  little  heart  behind  ! 
Gazing  in  her  eye 
Is  fatal,  by  the  by  ; 
That's  the  reason  Love  is  blind. 

Cupid  went  a-courting  dressed  up  like  a  man ; 
Kissed  the  maiden  often — that's  the  proper  plan  ; 
Uttered  pretty  speeches.     Heart  got  in  his  throat ; 
Wings  began  to  rustle  underneath  his  coat ; 
Whereupon  the  maiden  little  Cupid  knew  ; 
Smiling,  said  :  "  I  cannot,  cannot  marry  you ! 


I98  CUPID    WENT  A-COURTING. 

It  is  pleasant  having  Cupid  all  your  own  ; 
But  a  maiden  cannot  live  on  love  alone  !  " 
Pretty  little  Cupid,  I'll  tell  you 
When  you're  sent  a-courting  what  to  do  : 
Ever  be  afraid 
Of  a  pretty  maid  ; 
Leave  your  little  heart  behind  ! 
Gazing  in  her  eye 
Is  fatal,  by  the  by  ; 
That's  the  reason  Love  is  blind. 

Cupid  stopped  his  courting— couldn't  stand  her  "  No 
Yet  the  little  maiden  didn't  mean  it  so  ; 
Had  he  been  persistent  he  had  won  the  maid, 
But  with  Cupid  married  Love  had  lost  his  trade ; 
Then  no  other  maiden  would  have  felt  his  dart, 
And  no  man  without  him  won  a  maiden's  heart. 
Maidens  now  are  grateful  for  the  good  old  plan 
Which  requires  a  Cupid  and  a  real  man. 
Pretty  little  Cupid,  I'll  tell  you 
When  you're  sent  a-courting  what  to  do ; 
Ever  be  afraid 
Of  a  pretty  maid  ; 
Leave  your  little  heart  behind ! 
Gazing  in  her  eye 
Is  fatal,  by  the  by  ; 
That's  the  reason  Love  is  blind. 


ANY  KISSES    WITH   THE  ROSES?         199 


ANY  KISSES  WITH  THE  ROSES? 

THE  squire  is  young  and   handsome,  and   it  happens 

every  day 

That  he  stops  to  buy  a  flower  as  I  meet  him  on  the  way  ; 
And  to-day  he  took  them  all  at  any  price  that  I'd  agree, 
But  instead  of  looking  at  the  flowers,  kept  his  eyes  on  me 
Till  my  cheeks  were  flushed  and  burning  like  the  blushes 

on  the  rose  ; 
For  the  cheek  is  such  a  telltale  when   the  fond  heart 

overflows. 

Since  he  was  so  very  generous,  I  took  him  at  his  word  : 
"  For  each  rose  I'll  take  a  shilling !     Do  you  think  the 

price  absurd  ?  " 
Then  he  asked  me,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  very  roguish 

eye: 

"  Any  kisses  with  the  roses  when  the  roses  are  so  high  ?  " 
When  I  told  him  that  my  tulips  went  with  every  rose  he 

got, 
Why,  he  grabbed  me  and  the  basket,  saying   he  would 

take  the  lot. 

He  not  only  took  my  roses,  but  he  also  took  my  heart ; 
And   his  reason  was  that  love  and   flowers  shouldn't 

live  apart. 
Then  I  asked  :  "  When  one  is  faded,  will  you  bring  the 

other  back  ?  " 
But  he   answered   in  a  roguish  way   by  giving  me  a 

smack  ; 
Otherwise  he  made  no  answer  ;  there's  a  precious  reason 

why : 
When  the  lips  are  §o  engaged,  you  can't  expect  them  to 


200  /  LOVE  MY  LOVE. 

Precious  maiden,  take  this  precept :  Would   you  win  a 

lover  true, 
Let  your  life  be  like  the  flowers,  fresh  baptized  with 

heaven's  dew, 
Fragrant  with  its  many  virtues  both  in  sunshine  and  in 

shade, 

And  he'll  wear  you  in  his  bosom  as  a  rose  that  cannot  fade ; 
And  it  matters  not  what  blossoms  may  spring  up  along 

the  way, 
You  will  always  be  the  choicest  flower  in  his  heart  bouquet. 


I  LOVE  MY  LOVE. 

MY  love  is  not  a  soldier  bold, 

Because  there  is  no  war ; 

Nor  sailor,  for  the  world  holds  naught 

That  he  would  leave  me  for. 

My  love  is  not  a  lawyer,  with 

Short  briefs  and  longer  bills ; 

Nor  doctor,  whose  prescriptions  are 

Much  worse  than  all  your  ills. 

I  love  my  love  with  a  love  that's  true ; 

I  love  my  love,  but  he's  not  you  ! 

My  love  is  not  a  pauper,  no  ! 
Nor  is  he  clad  in  rags  ; 
Nor  is  my  love  a  millionaire 
Who  hugs  his  money  bags. 
My  lover's  not  a  reverend, 
Whom  some  folks  call  divine ; 
He  likes  mankind  in  general, 
But  loves  no  soul  but  mine. 

I  love  my  love  with  a  loye  that's  true ; 

I  love  my  love,  but  he's  not  you  ! 


CHRIST  BLESSING  LITTLE  CHILDREN.      201 


CHRIST  BLESSING  LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

PRAY,  gentle  stranger,  tell  me,  if  you  know, 
Is  this  the  spot  where  Jesus  stopped  to  rest, 
Where  heaven  and  earth  met  centuries  ago, 
And  little  children  were  divinely  blest  ? 

I'd  like  to  stand  where  little  ones  were  brought 
To  Him  who,  sitting,  sandals  in  the  dust, 
The  sweetest  lesson  of  the  Bible  taught : 
That  hope  of  heaven  is  born  of  childlike  trust. 

There  comes  from  all  that  sacred  history 
No  sweeter  picture  to  the  human  mind 
Than  when,  with  little  children  on  his  knee, 
Deity,  set  in  jewels,  crowned  mankind. 

The  trusting  mother  brought  her  infant  there 
What  though  the  wise  disciples  oft  reviled  ? 
Since  man's  redemption  took  them  in  his  care, 
Divinity  doth  always  hedge  a  child. 

And  when  the  Saviour  held  them  to  his  breast, 
Each  babe  looked  in  the  face  of  God  and  smiled. 
That  blessing  gained  comes  down  to  all  the  rest : 
Eternal  benediction  on  the  child  ! 

The  Saviour  loved  them,  even  though  he  knew 
Each  one  by  sin  might  some  time  be  denied  ; 
'Twas  nothing  more  than  Heaven  ought  to  do, 
For  He  was  once  a  helpless,  homeless  child. 

The  mother  clasps  her  baby  to  her  heart, 
With  Heaven's  glory  on  its  little  face  ; 
Earth  cannot  furnish  her  its  counterpart, 
Not  though  an  angel  came  to  take  its  place* 


202  PRINCE  AND   SERF. 

The  babe  comes  hither  from  the  great  unknown 
Yet  no  immortal  secrets  with  him  come. 
In  age,  with  that  same  muffled  monotone, 
He  journeys  back  again  as  sweetly  dumb. 

When  drowsy  age  sits  nodding  to  the  grave, 
The  deeds  of  many  years  together  piled, 
It  claims  the  blessing  which  redemption  gave 
In  being  once  again  so  like  a  child. 


PRINCE  AND  SERF. 

A  ROYAL  babe  is  born,  a  helpless  thing  ; 

Birth  makes  him  prince  and  Death  shall  make  him  king. 

Another  babe  is  born,  a  peasant  slave, 

With  naught  to  choose  between  them  save 

The  fiber  of  the  robes  ;  naught  to  convince 

Why  one  should  be  the  serf,  the  other  prince. 

Exchange  the  cradles  ;  send  the  serf  to  school ; 

He  will  be  king,  and  may  as  justly  rule  ; 

The  prince  becomes  a  serf  beneath  his  rod — 

There  is  no  royalty  in  sight  of  God. 

One  goes  not  far  along  the  royal  line 

To  find  himself  at  some  usurper's  shrine. 

'Twere  easy  told,  had  all  an  equal  chance, 

What's  due  to  genius,  what  to  circumstance. 

Birth  fills  the  world,  while  Death  maintains  his  calling. 
As  old  snows  melt  the  fresher  snow  is  falling  ; 
Each  flake  conceived  no  one  knows  how  nor  where, 
And  yet  so  pure  it  purifies  the  air. 
Or  sifted  through  the  canopy  of  night, 
Or  murky  cloud  of  day,  'tis  just  as  white. 


VICTORIA.  2°3 


On  earth's  great  bosom  gently  sinks  to  rest, 
And  falls  to  nursing  while  it  warms  the  breast ; 
Abides  its  season,  whether  month  or  day, 
Till  by  the  warmth  of  heaven  dissolved  away. 
A  blessed  faith  to  all  who  love  the  story- 
Man  melts  away  into  eternal  glory. 


VICTORIA. 

PEERLESS  woman  !    Such  another 

History  hath  never  seen  ; 
Thou,  so  good,  so  grand  a  mother, 

And,  withal,  so  great  a  queen, 
Victoria ! 

Sovereign  of  two  titles  legal, 

Queen  and  India's  empress  means 

England  holds  thee  doubly  regal 
And  the  royal  queen  of  queens ! 
Victoria ! 

Now  thy  children  gather  round  thee, 
While  the  nation  round  them  clings  ; 

Thus  with  jewels  they  have  bound  thee, 
Greatest  of  a  race  of  kings  ! 
Victoria ! 

All  mankind  salute  thy  banner, 

And  wherever  'tis  unfurled 
Greet  it  in  a  royal  manner ; 

Thus  'tis  honored  by  the  world  ! 
Victoria  ! 


204  VICTORIA. 


Out  on  each  sun-gilded  ocean, 
Gems  of  commerce  freighted  down, 

Thy  great  ships  suggest  the  notion 
That  the  earth,  too,  wears  thy  crown, 
Victoria ! 

Progress  fair,  her  form  adorning 
With  thine  aegis  on  her  breast, 

Greets  the  sun  at  India's  morning, 
Woos  him  down  Australia's  west ! 
Victoria  ! 

Heathen  nations  wake  from  dreaming, 
Civilization  gives  new  birth, 

With  thy  royal  banners  streaming 
Down  the  highways  of  the  earth  ! 
Victoria ! 

With  thy  steel,  the  world  surrounding, 
Constantly  the  sunbeams  play  ; 

Here  retiring  bugle  sounding, 
Yonder,  roll  of  reveille  ! 
Victoria ! 

On  the  brave  thy  realm  defending 
Never  can  the  sun  go  down  ! 

Hour  by  hour  his  rays  descending 
Kiss  the  legions  of  the  crown  ! 
Victoria  ! 

Earth  is  girt  with  population 
Speaking  in  the  English  tongue ; 

And  the  God  who  guides  the  nation 
Hears  one  endless  anthem  sung  ! 
Victoria  ! 


VICTORIA.  205 


Such  a  growth  to  England  never 
Came  beneath  another's  reign  ! 

Down  the  halls  of  time  forever 
Shall  re-echo  this  refrain  : 
"  Victoria  !  " 

Fifty  years  of  rule  with  sages 
As  the  Queen  of  Englishmen 

Is  a  glory  that  the  ages 
Never  may  repeat  again  ! 
Victoria  ! 

All  the  nations  know  thy  story ! 

All  now  join  thy  "  jubilee  !  " 
Tis  a  royal  crown  of  glory 

That  the  world  bestows  on  thee, 
Victoria ! 


THE  END. 


INDEX. 


Any  Kisses  With  the  Roses  ?  199 
A  Woman's  Pocket,  142 
Barefooted  After  the  Cows,  81 
Barnyard  Melodies,  145 
"  Birds  of  a  Feather,"  57 
Brogue  I  Brought  Over  the  Ocean, 

The,  175 

California  Flea,  The,  68 
Christ      Blessing     Little     Chil 
dren,  201 
Crazy  Vet,  49 

Cupid  Went  A-Courting,  197 
Dame  Nature's  "Crazy  Quilt,"  in 
Deacon  and  the  June  Bug,The,  120 
Dead  Regiments,  The,  167 
Don't  You  Think  So,  Bill  ?  19 
Elsie  Adair,  168 
Ensign,  The,  104 
Ferry,  The,  119 
Foreigners  at  the  Fair,  62 
Foreign  Views  of  the  Statue,  30 
Frog  and  the  Frenchman,  The,  84 
Funeral  of  the  Mountains,  The,  73 
Ghost     of     an     Old    Continent, 

The,  162 

Golden  Gate,  The,  184 
Grand  Canyon  of  the  Colorado, 

The,  167 
Guns,  107 
I  Love  My  Love,  aoo 


Italic,  160 

Jealous  Wife,  The,  53 

Jennie,  75 

John  Maynard,  148 

Kissing,  194 

Liberty  Enlightening  the  World, 

97 
Little  Church  of  Hamilton  Square, 

The,  144 

Little  Etta's  Colored  Boy,  192 
Little  Ned's  Wagon,  26 
Little  Tim's  Tobacco,  33 
Lullaby,  90 
Miller's  Maid,  The,  66 
Miracle  of  Cana,  The,  64 
Mother,  95 
Mrs.  Flanders,  171 
Murphy's  Donkey,  151 
Nancy  Hanks,  46 
New  Baby,  The,  88 
"  Oh,  Yeh-yus  !  "  134 
Old  Ace,  i 
Old  Eagle,  173 
Old  Glory,  44 
Orthod-Ox  Team,  The,  41 
Paddy  Moore,  177 
"  Palestine,"  15 
Pastor's  Wooing,  The,  59 
Pat's  Confederate  Pig,  23 
Pat's  Opinion  of  Flags,  98 


208 


INDEX. 


Pretty  Colleen,  The,  185 
Pretty  Maid  of  San  Jose,  51 
Prince  and  Serf,  202 
"  Remainder  of  the  Year,  The," 

35 

"  Said  I,"  180 
Santa  Claus,  126 
Shall  Bess  Come  Hame  ?  76 
Sheriff  of  Cerro-Gordo,  The,  129 
Sherman's  March,  37 
Silly  Billy,  116 
Skeleton,  The,  102 
Stuttering  Bill  on  the  Hen,  169 
Swing,  The,  5 


Three  Lullabys,  87 
Tramp  and  the  Cur,  The,  188 
Two  Knights,  The,  154 
Uncle  Eph's  Heaven,  12 
Uncle  Ezra's  Story,  136 
Wasp  at  Camp  Meeting,  The,  91 
Watchin'  the  Sparkin',  182 
When    One     Heart     Beats    for 

Two,  186 

Why  Rosy  Lips  Were  Made,  196 
With  the  Boys,  124 
Yosemite,  113 
You're  Another,  187 
Victoria,  203 


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[jRpjftnv  iic-r- 

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APR  3     1953  LU 

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